


little less deliberation

by highfalutin baby birb (fevered_dreams)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Flirting, M/M, Roof Sex, Stray!Tim, Team Up, Tim Drake is Catlad, constant flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-11-28 04:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18203609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fevered_dreams/pseuds/highfalutin%20baby%20birb
Summary: Jason’s momma never warned him to stay away from stray cats like she should have. Thankfully, this one likes him enough to keep his claws sheathed.Most of the time, at least. But that’s ok. Jason really enjoys a few nice scratches on occasion.(Down his back, red and raw. Something he can admire. Something he probably shouldn’t have in the first place.More than he anticipated.)





	1. Chapter 1

The wedding is beautiful.

They’ve decided to hold it during the peak of spring — late April, to be exact, on their idyllic terrace during the early afternoon. The perfect time to seal the deal with a delightfully chaste kiss before hiding away on some remote island to inevitably fuck away like absolute animals within the safety of their luxury resort.

The breeze picks up. A woman’s hair ruffles precariously, and she frowns as she pats her delicate braids down. Usually, these weddings hold their own kind of risk of torrential flooding and seasonably-unseasonable cold weather. Except, they got lucky. The sun shines down high above them viciously, but the gentle breeze helps keep the guests cool in their designer frocks and red-lacquered heels.

A man wears a Rolex. Several of them do, actually. And none of them are shy about it. They fiddle with them and glance down every so often to make sure that they know exactly what time it is. They’re even adept at flicking their wrists at precisely the right moment to let faces of their blood boon catch the sun enough to blind the other guests through pure opulence alone.

A few Cuban cigars are lit by cute waiters and waitresses. They bow woefully deep with each tiny interaction they have with the guests there, mouths fixed in polite, banal smiles as they shuffle around, catering to everyone’s needs with a frantic energy that the bride and groom don’t seem to notice at all. Jason supposes that’s just the kind of ignorant bliss that members of the Falcone family can afford. That, and this beautifully lavish wedding that would put even those of celebrities to shame.

Too bad he’s here to ruin all that.

Several guards lay prone around his feet, stationed on the rooftops with the most infuriating job imaginable — watch the expensive booze flow without the chance to taste the tiniest sip. Even more are scattered around the grounds and hidden away in and crevice of bin large enough to fit them — few, at the end of the day, considering how bulky the Falcone’s guards tend to be. Thankfully, the wedding has turned them stupid; they had been so busy planning for this damn thing, they apparently abandoned the foresight to hire someone worthwhile like Deathstroke in time for the festivities. Not to mention, they evidently don’t have anyone manning the security cameras properly, seeing as they haven’t raised Hell yet at the fake footage Jason implanted a few hours ago.

And the rest of them are near the docks, dealing with the mess Roy’s undoubtedly making right now. That leaves Jason with plenty of time to sneak in and grab the documents he needs for without getting into too much trouble. That even means he can probably avoid adding to his body count today, too. Bruce would be ecstatic. At the very least, he’ll leave Jason alone for a little bit longer this time.

He hears faint cheering below him as he starts to move. Either the newly married couple has finally kissed, or the bouquet has been tossed. Those do sound like the cheers of old, skinny women with their pearl necklaces perched atop painfully fragile collarbones, after all. Husbands rarely last long in the family, and even mobsters crave love, he supposes. They’re probably plenty excited for the chance go snag themselves another hot, young thing to comfort them at night when their consciences finally catch up with them.

That’s no matter for him to dwell on now, though. No, he just really needs to go get what he needs before the party ends because they’ve grown careless at the romantic promises of a political marriage. Because marriages — and distractions — like this don’t come around every day.

He sneaks in through the side entrance closest to the celebrations. The lackeys that should’ve been guarding this door are all too busy making sure no assassins start raining from the sky to pay much attention to fine details like big, burly men in gaudy red helmets crawling into the mansion right behind them. He figures their fears rest on a halfway-decent basis, seeing as Jason moments ago went through the trouble of taking out a small fleet of snipers sent by Maroni to derail the ceremony, but still. The Falcone’s can do better than this. They have to, to remain so prolific and powerful over Gotham. They _should_ have to, at least.

Or perhaps Batman’s grown so sentimental for his outdated morals that even the mafia can afford to go slack these days.

Because, honestly, the guards inside are laughably incompetent. Compared to Bruce and Dick, Jason has never been particularly stealthy. Even as Robin, fooling around in a Bruce’s shadows like he was the greatest thing to grace Gotham’s dirty, blood-stained streets, he had been barely furtive enough for Bruce’s taste.

In hindsight, he might not have ever been good enough. Bruce used to always chew him out for his lack of discretion and brashness, after all. And that’s what got him killed. Bruce even said so, one night when he though Jason wasn’t around to hear him.

(After that, Jason made a point to never be around enough to hear any more.)

But that’s neither here nor there because the point now is that Falcone’s men can’t guard for shit. Jason streaks through the hallways with all the lack-of-discretion he owns, only to find that they’re hardly worth his time, slow and stupid as they act. They’re certainly not worth wasting any of his bullets on — even if he bought them using Bruce’s credit card. Because,  
Apparently, Bruce hasn’t grown cold-hearted enough to be smart for once by cutting Jason off from the Wayne family fortune. He just glares at Jason from across high-rise rooftops. Jason, in turn, ignores him in favor of snapping the neck of another abusive pump that Bruce continuously turns a blind eye to because he doesn’t actually care.

Most of them don’t.

Oracle does, however. That’s why he went through great pains to avoid Barbara’s careful, but pointed words about how Jason doesn’t need to do this. About how he could leave this stuff with the Falcone’s to the Bats because they’d manage to finish it. Eventually. They’d even do it without any casualties. She believed so because she had always been a fighter. Because she didn’t hate the Joker as much as him. Because she’s so, so strong.

And Bruce considers him weak. He finds Jason weak for letting his own death get the best of him. For letting it turn him into _this_ — into the Red Hood.

Jason thinks he’s weak for trusting Batman in the first place.

So, he’s gonna do this himself. Gotham doesn’t need Batman anymore if he can’t do something as simple as storm a mob family’s base of operations for important, life-saving information. Even if it leads to a few deaths.

Gotham needs the Red Hood.

He tells himself that on repeat as he turns another corner, at the ready to take down another series of slipshod guards before they can alert anyone of his presence. Except, as the next hallway comes into view, several men already lay prone on the floor, sprawled here and there in front of an offensively ornate doorway.

He creeps over slowly before crouching down to check one of them. Alive, but definitely out. Jason even gives one of them a solid kick to the side to try to rouse one, but he doesn’t even budge.

Well. This is interesting, to say the least.

He deliberates on whether or not he should call Barbara for help. She would for sure nag at him for ages if he told her what he was doing, but, in all honesty, she probably already knows full well where he is and why. So, he taps into her line and waits for her to notice.

It takes her a total of six seconds to respond.

“I told you to stay out of it,” she says without a single hitch. Her voice dips down sternly with disapproval, but she doesn’t cut the line. Clearly, she can’t be that upset with him if she continues to speak to him.

So, Jason just responds with a, “Someone else has infiltrated the place. Took out a few guards near one of the bedrooms.”

Jason can’t see Barbara like this, but he swears he can feel the roll of her eyes nonetheless. “Yeah. You’re a bit late to the game, aren’t you?”

“Is it Maroni’s men?” Jason asks, mouth right and teeth clenched.

“No. Don’t worry, it’s no one bad. Or, no one really bad. Why don’t you go ahead and see who your mystery helper is for yourself?”

Jason frowns. Barbara has never been particularly in want of being the cryptic type when she acts as Oracle, but she refuses to give him any more information. Even after he asks nicely with a please and a hopeful lilt at the end, she remains steadfast in her silence.

It seems Jason has no choice but to make this discovery himself.

He spots nothing but empty space when he opens the door, but someone has definitely gone through the room. Several drawers have been left hanging open at precarious tilts, while others have haphazardly been closed by a hasty, impatient hand. Jason takes another few steps in. Carefully. No one greets him  
However, he does notice the open closet door, and, spurred on by reassuring silence from Babs, he enters.

And there he finds Stray, sifting through drawers and drawers of the finest jewelry that blood money can buy like it’s the most mundane thing he’s ever done. Compared to some of his other jewel heists, it very well may be.

“What are you doing here?” Jason demands.

Stray, the little brat, doesn’t even give Jason the satisfaction of looking surprised. Instead, he spends a few moments fiddling with a few more necklaces before grabbing ahold of two of them. Then, he finally turns towards Jason, eyes big and lips pouted.

“Oh, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you for ages,” Stray says, instead of offering Jason a proper answer. He shoots a coy grin Jason’s direction as he pops a pretty, slim hip to the side. Against his will, Jason follows the movement like a man possessed. “Now, tell me, which one do you like better: the rubies or the sapphires? I think the sapphire necklace would go better with my eyes, but I do love me a nice pop of red. You make it look so good.”

Jason stares on quietly at first. With the new cowl Stray adopted a few weeks ago, Jason can see his eyes without the orange reflective tint of his goggles, so he knows exactly what he means about the sapphires.

Because Tim’s eyes are blue. So, so blue. Piercingly, terrifyingly blue. Beautiful and brimming with blue.

(And, Jason thinks, they kinda match Bruce’s.)

To be frank, Jason initially hated Stray’s new look. He had grown accustomed — complacent, really — to the physical barrier the old goggles put between them during their ill-advised games of rooftop tag. With those, Jason only fell victim to the full prowess of Stray’s cloyingly sultry looks once he had already lost the game. So, ultimately, he didn’t lose much at all with them around. Now, though, Stray can catch him from the very beginning with that signature flutter of his eyelashes, and Jason still hasn’t developed a reasonable defense against it yet.

At least he’s finally gotten used to seeing Stray’s gaze fixed so raptly on his own outside of rooftop romps. As such, Jason’s heart rate barely quickens at the sight of Stray standing so pretty in front of him, adorned with jewels that sparkle and highlight the long column of his neck like nothing else. Like he’s an absolute doll who’s been all done up by a loving hand with an eye for jewelry.

(That’s a lie. Jason’s heart is doing somersaults across his chest cavity. His ribs rattle terribly from the impact, and he feels lightheaded when Stray smirks at him in that special, certain way of his. Jason thinks part of Catwoman’s training must entail seduction.

Scratch that — he _knows_ it does.

And Stray is so very good at it.)

Either way, Jason thinks he looks good like that. So fucking good, like always.

He doesn’t show it, thought. He just looks on equally as steadfast. Of course, Stray can’t exactly see that past Jason’s helmet, but he’s a smart kitty. He probably knows nonetheless.

Already, their next game has started. Whoever caves first loses. Winner gets to gloat. The loser gets to revel in the vision before him.

In the end, Jason breaks first. He can’t help it. He thinks Babs even snorts in his ear as Jason inhales before speaking. If he were her, he’d probably do the same.

“What are you doing here?” Jason repeats. His voice comes out firm and a touch exasperated, but Stray remains as unfazed.

“I thought that was obvious. I’m here to pick out some new jewelry for myself. I heard there was a grand celebration going on for the Falcone’s today, so I figured I’d come over and check out the party favors,” Stray replies smoothly. He still holds both necklaces, one in each hand, as if he’ll truly continue to appraise them for worthiness upon his lovely, sharp clavicle. Except, the grip he has on them, lax edging on greedy, gives away his final decision.

Jason sighs, and Stray pockets them both. Predicable.

“You thought it’d be a good idea to go head-to-head with the Falcone’s just for a few shiny trinkets? You out of your damn mind? Or did all that catnip finally get to you?”

Stray’s smile sharpens as he runs over a nice brooch and a couple of tennis bracelets. This must not be Victoria’s room, then, because they actually look almost small enough to fit Stray’s slender frame.

A lot of bracelets probably don’t. Stray’s a small thing. Jason knows. Stray’s wrist can easily, _easily_ , fit within Jason’s grip with plenty of room to spare, and Jason has flung Stray over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes many times now.

(And Stray feels weightless when he bounces on Jason’s lap, riding his dick like it’s going out of fashion, and he needs to milk it for all it’s still worth.)

“Come on, it’s a wedding! People become laughably witless when it comes to things like these. So, it’s not like I had to take down Carmine himself. Just a few thugs, and look —“ Stray picks up one of the tennis bracelets he had been pondering over, a delicate one adorned with what appears to be opals all around, “— at all that I found for my efforts. I’d bet my whole entire collection that half of these are at least a century old. You can’t find stuff like this laying around just anywhere, you know.”

“Of course not. Auction prices are steep.”

“And you know I don’t have that kind of money lying around,” Stray purrs. He even manages to make a blatant lie sound like a come-on, and Jason resents that; he resents how much it affects him. “I gotta get them some other way.”

“So here you are,” Jason deadpans.

“So, here I am. I even got to run into you, so this whole thing is a win-win,” he fiddles with the bracelet for a bit before holding out his wrist. “Help me put this on? I wanna see how it looks on me.”

Jason should say no. He should refuse to play along while not-so-gently steering Stray clear of the Falcone mansion because this kind of place isn’t safe. Not even for exceptional acrobats trained in several different forms of martial arts with a lovely smile and even lovelier ass.

He doesn’t says no.

He says nothing as he steps forward to take the bracelet from Stray’s hands. It feels like it could snap any second underneath in Jason’s hands, and even almost drops it as he grapples with the small clasp. Stray’s patient throughout it all, though, and, when Jason finally gets it secured around his thin little wrist, Stray tosses something like a genuine small his way.

“Oh, I love it. What about you? What do you think?” Stray asks, flicking his wrist to and fro. The streaks of pink, orange, and blue in the opals catch the light as they move, and Stray looks positively mesmerized by them.

But Jason can’t pull his eyes away from Stray’s face long enough to truly admire them.

His voice betrays him. “Yeah,” he whispers, against reason and any rational volition. He feels like a wolf caught in a trap, stuck between chewing his own leg off or biting the hand that feeds him. He suffers no matter what.

Stray grins harder. “I guess I’ll just have to keep it then, huh?”

Jason swallows. “You’ll do whatever you want either way.”

“You know me so well.”

Barbara scoffs in Jason’s ear. He’s almost forgotten about her.

He definitely forgot why he came here in the first place.

“I gotta go,” Jason announces abruptly. Stray cocks his head to the side, silently inviting Jason to explain himself. “I have a few things to find before the wedding ends. Then, we both have to get the fuck out of here before we get caught. You don’t know what men like these will do to someone like you, you know.”

Stray wrinkles his nose with a frown. “No need to be so dramatic. Or vulgar.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“As if I can’t take care of myself,” Stray huffs.

“As if men like these have any moral or sense of common courtesy,” Jason counters. “Just stay put until I get back, alright? Just because you’re a bad guy doesn’t mean you have to argue with me about everything. ”

“Fine. Whatever you say Mr. Macho Man,” Stray drawls. He rolls his eyes, but his shoulders relax around the edges. Jason counts that as a kind of victory; he must, or else he’d never win. “I’m sure there are enough new goodies for me to look over while you go and do whatever secret vigilante thing you’ve come here to do. Just make sure you don’t forget to pick me up when you’re done. And, please, take extra care to avoid tripping any alarms. Even if just for my sake.”

“Of course,” Jason says. He’s too sincere with it, but Stray looks unbothered. He’s too busy going through the rest of the fine jewelry to pay much attention to Jason.

Without another word, Jason exits the large walk-in closet, crosses the floor of the even larger bedroom, and continues on his merry way.

Then, Barbara finally gives him something useful. “Keeping going straight until you see the little fountain. Then, turn right, left, another left, and the main office should be obvious. Watch out. There are still plenty of guards there. You’ll have to take them all quick if you want to stop them from sounding the alarm.”

“You say that like you haven’t already gone and disabled their alert system.”

“I’m just trying to keep you sharp.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m doing fine without any of your help.”

“Stray would probably disagree.”

“Stray doesn’t know shit about me,” Jason argues.

“If you say so.”

Jason rounds the last corner. As expected, there are several guards there, but a solid tackle and a few trusty bullets take care of them without too much trouble. The new silencer he picked up from some seedy vendor downtown works wonders, surprisingly. His aim, too, hasn’t faltered in the slightest. He’s still as sharp as ever, thank you very much, and he’s certain Stray would wholeheartedly agree.

Even the bloodstains on the pearly white walls and nearby decorations, all gaudy and pompous with little substance, look tasteful. They don’t spray too far because Jason doesn’t need to riddle them with bullets to be rid of them like some others do, courtesy of unsteady hands and Though, he also takes note of how soft the Falcone’s have gotten, if he’s able to wreak so much havoc single-handedly.

Almost single-handedly. Stray’s here too, he reminds himself.

Either way, he thinks about how much Batman has ruined the mafia. They act far too freely now, far too lax because they think the only people they really have to worry about are the other Family’s. A traitorous part of Jason inundates the deepest crevice of his mind with saccharine words of praise for the Bat. After all, if he hadn’t softened up the mobs in Gotham with his goody-two-shoes, no murdering act, they might still give a fuck, and this whole escapade would’ve been much more difficult to manage.

But then Jason quickly reminds himself that the mobs would’ve been dismantled long ago if Bruce had the balls to do the right thing. So, once again, Batman isn’t shit, and Gotham needs the Red Hood.

With that in mind, he saunters into the room with all the confidence and self-assurance he can scrounge up, only to find everything within destroyed — computers, files, _everything_.

Jason stands at the entryway in silence for quite some time. He can afford to, after messing with the security cameras. Not to mention, his fragile psyche needs the time to recuperate.

Oracle doesn’t let him have that time.

“Sorry. Guess I forgot to mention that Stray got here long before you.” She sounds very nonchalant about the whole thing. Jason wishes he could relate.

“I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, could forget something so important,” Jason grits out. He moves until he stands in front of the computer. His finger presses down the power buttons before he can stop himself.

Nothing happens. He hadn’t expected much else, but the physical affirmation of his suspicions still pisses him off something fierce.

“Even the best of us makes mistakes sometimes,” Babs says wistfully over the comm.

“Bullshit,” Jason growls. Then, he makes a huge show of knocking the computer off the desk, reveling in the way it crashes and splinters atop the expensive, plush carpet before storming back outside.

Back to Stray.

He’s still busy looking over his most recent loot in the bedroom closet where Jason left him. A part of Jason preens at the realization that Stray does actually listen to him.

Or maybe he always does as he pleases, and his whims have simply coincided nicely with Jason’s for now.

Regardless, he still stands in that damn closet, humming to himself like nothing’s wrong, and that appeals to a totally different part of Jason that screams green and rage because if he fails enough time at completing his self-imposed mission, then maybe that’ll prove that Batman’s been right about him this whole time.

Maybe Jason really is trash who never deserved the Robin mantle in the first place.

Maybe he never deserved any of this.

Maybe he deserved all of it.

He stalks up to Stray with a vindictive purpose. Finally, Stray falters as he inspects a row of diamonds underneath the chandelier lighting.

“What the fuck did you do?” Jason demands.

Stray blinks slowly as he turns to face Jason. He purses hips lips tightly, and the wrinkles around his mouth herald his displeasure.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak to me like that,” he says pointedly. His eyes are sharp, and he looks more cat-like than ever, but even that isn’t enough to slake the anger bubbling up in Jason’s throat.

Sour. Stringent. Sacred. It tastes wretched in the back of Jason’s tongue, like acid he can’t quite swallow down. Instead, it settles, like a persistent itch — or burn — intent on crawling its what up his sinuses to the base of his brain. It hurts, and he hates it. But he can’t quite tamp it down, even when Tim — _Stray_ — stands before him, looking like an absolute doll that he values more than he’d like to admit.

So, he storms over to Tim — _Tim_ — like a damn freight train to stare him down, tossing the helmet to the side for extra effect; his domino’s still there, but at least now Tim — Stray, godammit — can see the crease in his brows and the tight wrinkles around his mouth.

He opens his mouth to speak. Except, he simultaneously spots the apprehension and fear in Tim’s eyes looking back up at him, painfully and horribly clear without those goggles, and the rage diffuses out of him like it never even existed in the first place.

“Fuck,” Jason gusts, backing away from Tim. He stutters backwards into a row of beautiful nightgowns, and his breathing comes out like something dying in a ditch, in an empty warehouse with the timer ticking down and no one in sight to save him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t — I didn’t mean to…”

He doesn’t finish his words. He can’t. He has no idea how to.

Tim licks his lips as he watches Jason stumble all over himself. But, he says nothing. For some time, they just stand and stare at each other, a beautiful collection of diamonds still piled up within Tim’s palm. They glimmer with a mocking sheen, but at least they help block out the green for awhile.

Tim takes a step forward, necklace or bracelet or whatever still in hand. In turn, Jason takes a step back. Tim won’t let him get far, though.

“Are you ok?” Tim asks quietly. “Look, I’m sorry for getting the files before you. I didn’t think it would… upset you so much.”

“No. It’s fine. I’m the one overreacting,” Jason says, even though he still really wants those damn files. “Please, don’t… Be upset.”

Suddenly, he feels like a teenage boy, apologizing to his first girlfriend for being an absolute ass the way all teenage boys inevitably are. Except, Jason’s not a kid anymore. He’s a grown ass adult. He needs to get his shit together.

Tim takes another step forward. Jason lets him approach this time, so close he’s finally within arm’s reach.

He bridges the gap between them to place a gloved hand on Jason’s face. The claws affixed to the tips of his fingers hover dangerously close to Jason’s scalp, but he feels little apprehension from them. No, all he feels is the way Tim gently caresses his cheek up to his bangs, gaze soft all the while like a sweet lover after a long day who really, genuinely cares about Jason.

“Come rest with me for awhile. Until you get your bearings back,” Tim implores with a sinful whisper.

Jason leans into the touch, absolutely beside himself and terribly far beyond his own volition. “What do you mean? We have to leave soon.”

“We still have some time. I’ve set everything up for it.”

Of course he has. In another life, Jason thinks Tim would make a great Robin. He’d probably make an even better Batman.

He’s not, though. He’s Stray. And Jason likes him far too much despite that.

“Ok.”

Tim leads him to the massive, slightly upturned bed in the middle of the massive, slightly more upturned bedroom. He lays himself down upon it before dragging Jason down with him, and Jason hates how comfortable the sheets and their impossibly-high thread count feel.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes. They’re covered in blood,” Tim says quietly. He moves without even waiting for Jason’s response, but that’s fine. Jason wouldn’t have given one anyway. He’s never been good at denying Tim much.

“You really trying to get fucked while we’re at the Falcone estate? Literally, I mean,” Jason says. His breath hitches when he feels Tim’s claws brush against the base of his neck as Tim pulls his shirt. Tim smirks down at him slyly as a result. He brushes his claws against Jason’s jugular, and Jason’s half-hard from that alone.

Tim hums and continues on his self-imposed mission of undressing Jason. “Well, why not? I think it’d make you feel better.”

“More than talking out my feelings would?” Jason asks.

Tim pins Jason down with a melancholic glance and a wry grin. “But would you honestly tell me anything?”

Jason bites the inside of his cheek. Blood blooms, metallic and sticky within the cracks in his teeth and the grooves of his gums. “No. I guess not.”

“Then it’s settled, yeah?”

Jason’s shirt is off now. Tim quickly moves onto his belt and pants.

“Yeah. I guess so.”

The issue of logistics does not creep into Jason’s mind until they’re both naked. Even then, he struggles to think properly, so distracted that he is by the slide of Tim’s perfect, pert ass against his dick. The look on Tim’s face, now cowl-less despite Jason’s words of warning, also does things to Jason’s rationale that he’d prefer to never admit. Eventually, he manages to form a few coherent thoughts while Tim leans over him, suckling what will likely be a gnarly hickey high on his neck.

“You planning on stealing some lube and condoms from the Falcone’s too? Because, to be frank, that’s fucking disgusting, and I refuse to take part in any of that,” Jason says.

Tim scoffs. His breath puffs across Jason’s neck, and Jason can feel his skin prickling beneath the wave, reaching for more.

“Of course not. You think your dick is really that great?”

Jason scowls. Tim can’t see it, so it’s kinda for naught. It still makes Jason feel a bit better, though.

Tim’s following words lift his mood even more. “No, I have my own. I started bringing them along just in case after our last rooftop rendezvous. You’re too big for spit alone, and that whole no condom thing was…” He pauses to lift his head up. “A poor decision on both our parts.”

“Yeah. You’re right,” Jason says offhandedly. His voice sounds cast-off far away from himself, but Tim catches his mouth soon enough. Otherwise, Jason’s breath might just escape him forever.

They kiss for some time after that. Tim kisses a touch sloppily, with lots of tongue and hungry lips, but Jason can’t find it in him to mind it. Not when Tim moans into his mouth like that, rutting against Jason as if he’s some kind of cat in heat, begging for Jason’s cock through nothing more than sheer will.

He grabs ahold of Tim’s tiny little hips. If he presses down hard enough he can make out the side edges of his pelvis, but there’s still a delicious swath of fat there for Jason to dip his fingers into before he slides over for a generous handful of Tim’s ass. Tim breaks away with a nearly inaudible pop. His lips are slick with saliva, his cheeks flushed a red to rival the sheen of the rubies from earlier, and his eyes are glazed over with desire.

God, Tim looks fucking good like that.

“Come on, hurry it up a little. I bought us some time, but we don’t have all day to lounge around,” Tim urges.

Jason thrusts his hips upwards, taking great delight in the way Tim mewls afterwards.

“Someone’s being feisty, even though they’re the one who can’t stop grinding down against me long enough to get a condom out,” Jason says past his groaning.

Tim opts against a verbal response. In its stead, he tilts back with an alarmingly impressive curve to his back — thanks to all his acrobatic and gymnastics training, no doubt — to rummage through his belt for a small bottle of lube and a condom.

Jason plucks the condom from Tim’s fingers. “You pack _extra large_ condoms?”

Tim shrugs. “Well, you certainly need them, at least.”

Jason refuses to dwell on the possibility that Tim now not only carries condoms because of him but also _for_ him because such details matter little, at the end of the day.

It means nothing.

This means nothing.

He must mentally drag himself away from the notion. The last lingering piece of optimism that yet maintains its futile existence within him does not go without a fight. The logical, rational, and thus cynical parts of Jason must forcefully drag it away from such a fanciful idea. It kicks and screams all the while, until Jason can toss it into the green, left with a brief stint of silence until it inevitably revive itself to wreak hideous, hopeful havoc all over again.

“Want me to put it on?”

Jason blinks. Pretty little Tim is still naked in front of him. This time, the condom’s out of the wrapper, and Tim’s expression errs on greedy impatience.

“You don’t want me to help prep you a bit first?” Jason asks.

Tim shakes his head. “No time. If you just go slow and use plenty of lube, it should be fine. I’m still plenty stretched from the last time.”

“If you say so. Put it on me, then.”

Jason expects Tim to roll the condom down with a flirty flick of his wrist while bearing down at him with sultry eyes. That’s how he’s done if before, after all, and Jason has liked that plenty, before.

Jason should know by now how much Tim likes to defy expectations. Unfortunately, Jason’s never been exactly the detective type. In lieu of that, he resigns himself to playing the part of the bruiser while Barbara does the hard part.

Maybe she would’ve predicted this — the sight of Tim delicately popping the condom between his lips so he can roll it down Jason’s terribly hard dick with his mouth. For a brief point in time, Jason wonders whether or not Barbara still has her line open, or if she went ahead and closed it as soon as Tim suggested a quick lay-down on mafiosa plush sheets like the smart, sensible woman she is.

Then, Tim hollows his cheeks, and Jason suddenly couldn't care less about such irrelevant semantics.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, Tim chooses that moment to pull himself off Jason’s dick. The condom’s securely on, and the feeling of Tim’s hand wrapped around it, slicking him thoroughly with lube is all well and nice, but Jason finds himself longing for the sensation of Tim’s warm, wet mouth on him nonetheless.

On the other hand, the slow slide into Tim’s ass proves to be far more enjoyable.

They go slow. They go so fucking slow, and Jason’s throat crawls with impatience, like a starving dog being forced to sit tight and roll over for a delicious meal right in front of his nose by an owner with a superiority complex.

Jason would know. He’s been around far too many people with that exact hang-up to not know exactly what that’s like.

As a result, he strains with the effort of keeping his hips still as Tim sinks down around him, inch by centimeter by iota. They go unbearably slow, until Tim gasps upon reaching the thickest part of Jason’s cock. He writhes, and his face scrunches up into a discomfited frown.

Jason hates to see him like that.

“You alright?” he asks breathlessly. It takes a lot out of him to hold back the needy grunt begging to escape him, but he manages. “We can stop if it’s too much.

“It’s fine,” Tim assures, breathless. He shimmies his hips down for emphasis, and Jason’s too damn horny to argue against that. “You’re just big.”

“You don’t need to flatter me now. I’m already halfway inside you,” Jason teases past another groan.

“Is it flattery if it’s true?” Tim asks cheekily.

Jason smirks in response, but he still pushes in ridiculously slow for good measure. Though, he thinks it might all be worth it from the way Tim smiles down at him.

He smiles like he means it.

(Bruce used to smile like he meant it. Now he can’t even look at Jason.)

“Good?” Tim asks.

“Yeah,” Jason breathes. He digs his fingers back into Tim’s hips. “Good. You’re so good.”

Tim’s grin widens. Probably because he, too, knows how good he feels. He pulses himself down even further, several inches at once until his ass sits flush against Jason’s crotch, and if that isn’t a challenge then Jason’ll eat his own foot.

He takes the chance. He pulls Tim off of him, only a bit because Jason would sooner shoot up the whole damn place than be without Tim now. After a few inches, with Tim looking down at him with apprehensive wonder, Jason slams his hips up, and the way Tim rolls his eyes back leaves Jason so, so hungry.

“Good?” Jason echoes teasingly.

”Fucking amazing,” Tim moans.

And that’s all Jason needs.

He thrusts with the crazed vigor of a beast, fueled on by the ever-pervasive and annoyingly persistent thoughts that love to creep around the edges of his consciousness, groaning and panting like a madman the whole time. Most people actually hate it when he gets like this — especially when he forgets to give them warning. Which happens fairly often, if he were being completely honest. Tim, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind the vicious pace much. That, or he already got the hint long ago, and he’s had time to come to terms with it.

Because Tim’s smart like that. A detective who commits the crimes. A criminal who gets away with it because he’s already figured out how the good guys will try to catch him and how to get away from them.

Because Tim feels so good. Because he meets each other Jason’s thrusts with a delicious roll of his own hips, and because he pushes back with just enough force. In other words, more than others tend to. Much more.

“Look at you,” Jason whispers, beside himself with pleasure. “Your catsuit really doesn’t hide much, does it? Your ass is just as great naked as it is all covered up in leather.”

“Did you think it wouldn’t be? That thing’s skintight, you know.”

“Some people use their costumes to give themselves a certain lift.”

Tim laughs before sinking down and holding Jason’s cock fully inside for a few amazing seconds. “Oh, no, I’d never do myself a disservice like that.”

“I doubt you’d ever have to. You’d probably have men falling all over themselves to just look at you with a goddamn sack on,” Jason murmurs against Tim’s skin. He latches onto whatever smooth expanse he can find, much to Tim’s delight, and Tim’s delight proves to be Jason’s delight, too.

Tim’s eyes glow dangerously under the crystal lights hovering ominously above them as he rolls his hips. “That’s the whole point, Hood.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason grumbles.

Tim just smiles wider. Admittedly, Jason’s a bit captivated by it, just like those poor fools who try so damn hard to get even an ounce of Tim’s attention.

And yet, Jason, out of all the hunky vigilantes out there, is the one who gets to fuck him like this. No one is more shocked than him at the fact.

In the end, Jason doesn’t last much longer than that. Tim’s fucks himself way too well for that, but Jason figures it’s for the best. They can’t stay here forever, even if the impressive thread count has certainly grown on his.

(His old bed in the mansion had sheets like these. For the first few days, they had been infuriatingly soft, and Jason didn’t know how to handle it. He had tossed and turned all night until he finally realized that it wasn’t a dream. He was Robin now.

He had been Robin.

Then he died.)

Jason shuts his eyes down tightly and punts that thought of his mind with a vengeful kick, and he feels Tim keening loudly as he comes. Jason, thank heavens, follows shortly afterwards. _Finally_ , he thinks about absolutely nothing for a few, blissful moments as he spills inside the condom, hips stuttering through a few more uncontrollably needy thrusts.

Slowly, Tim slumps down against him, chest heaving and eyes glassy like those of some thoroughly-fucked porn star. He’s also flushed a fierce red, so pleased he’s practically purring, and fitted with satisfied grin that fills Jason with pride. In fact, everything about Tim in that moment, lax and loose from a good orgasm, leaves Jason preening, even with quickly drying the cum splattered across his abdomen.

“You look like a kitten who got the cream,” Jason teases, voice gone hoarse from it all.

“ _Me-ow_ ,” is all Tim says in response. He rolls his tongue as he speaks, warm as he lays atop Jason, and the moment is grand.

They bask for a few more minutes before they start getting ready to leave. It takes Tim, along with a bit of forceful tugging on Jason’s part, a moment to get back into his skintight leather suit with the sweat lingering over him. Tim, on the other hand, uses more than a mere moment to fit Jason’s helmet back over his face; he gets awfully sidetracked by brushing a long line up Jason’s jawline with warm, smooth fingers and loses as he does so, and his moments last both too long and not long enough. Either way, Jason cannot call him out on it because it feels so good. Still, make it out in record time before any of the wedding-goers have any chance to notice that anything’s gone amiss.

Of course, Tim makes sure to grab several shiny trinkets on their way out. Jason averts his eyes and plays the part of an unknowing accomplice. The Falcone’s have enough.

“I guess this is where we part ways,” Tim — now back to Stray — says once they’re a safe enough distance away. “Thanks for escorting me all the way here, Mr. Man. I guess chivalry really isn’t head yet, huh?”

“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t get into any more trouble without my around,” Jason lies.

Tim looks on unconvinced, but no words to the contrary escape him. To the contrary, he says, “What a gentleman,” and smiles.

Jason, sometimes, hates it when Tim smiles. Because he is terribly and unfairly weak to Tim’s smile, despite the aggravating nonchalance it bears.

“Can’t have you killed on my watch. Your momma lion would gut me alive if I did,” Jason says.

“It’s nice to have someone looking out for you, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jason breathes, and he swears that the wistfulness in his voice is an imagined construct of a more pitiful man.

And he swears up and down with the fury of a sad, dying man that he most definitely does not miss Tim once their part ways. _Definitely_ not. To even suggest as much would count as an insult, and Jason feels far too sensitive to be so thoroughly insulted right now.

Though, he can’t help but feel a bit slighted a few hours later once Barbara not-so-kindly reminds him that he forgot to retrieve the files from Tim.

“You’ve got it bad,” she says. Faintly, he hears a crunch and the wrinkle of a plastic bag. He imagines her snacking away as she mocks him, and he doesn’t appreciate the mental image it provokes.

“Shut up,” he responds petulantly.

For he is but a weak man, and cats rule the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finally jumped on the stray!tim bandwagon haha. please tell me what you think! 
> 
> if you want to talk to me or want to know more about how you can support me or request a piece of writing, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)! i'm always happy to talk about whatever :)


	2. Chapter 2

Jason absolutely abhors these galas. Even as a kid, when he used to be a _Wayne_ —

(He still is, technically. A Wayne. Jason Todd-Wayne. Dying doesn’t necessarily exclude one from being a part of the family, especially when that person comes back from the dead. Even if his memory had been hazy at best and his emotions volatile and downright nasty at worst, he never technically stopped being a Wayne. Adoptions don’t work that way.

They last forever.

But Jason can’t find a single shred of his being that still craves the Wayne moniker. Why would he, when daddy-dearest couldn’t — wouldn’t — even save him?)

Even as a kid he hated these things. The pomp and circumstance of the whole event overwhelmed him to the point of massive headaches at the mere thought of attending one, and he never quite grew accustomed to the subtle games everyone else here enjoyed playing so much. Even Alfred’s careful, exhaustive tutelage had been of little use with Jason as a student.

Jason just didn’t possess that particular brand of sly sensibilities. Growing up on the streets of Gotham hardly fostered that kind of stuff. Or, they did, but in ways that didn’t include backhanded compliments and gently side-stepping away from unwanted prying like someone pretending to be a blushing virgin. Either way, Jason had always been terrible at these damn things.

At least back then it had been easier to avoid attending the vast majority of them. Brucie used to spin delightful little tales of how shy Jason was and how Brucie wanted to avoid stressing him out too much while he was still adjusting to his new life. It was hard work, you know, being uprooted from a life of squalor in one of Gotham’s several slums into a pampered one full of consistently hot showers and fresh food.

It was hard being Robin.

So, the press unsurprisingly ate up Brucie’s words with a coo and a sigh before moving onto eating the next sap alive. And, with that, Jason didn’t have to go to these “functions” anymore and risk accidentally offending someone important.

He wishes he still didn’t have to attend these things. If he could keep hold of only one thing from his childhood, it’d probably be his lack of responsibility for uppity things like this.

Or his optimism and respect for Bruce.

Nah, the ability to hide away in his room and jerk off to gay porn while members of the higher social echelon ambled about right underneath him was much better.

As such, Jason finds himself quite fucking annoyed to be here right now, surrounded by the rich who don’t actually give a single fuck about helping others. The only reason they attend these charity galas is to make themselves look good for the local news stations, all while flaunting their abhorrently expensive clothing and jewelry as they size each other up.

He hears whispers of potential suitors for someone’s lovely daughter. They rank the men there according to net worth and general politeness. A man who opens doors for others would surely make a great husband, right?

Several young men discuss similar things to his other side. Except, they’re far more preoccupied with rating tits than anything else. Typical.

A particularly decorated young woman approaches him. To be frank, she’s plenty good-looking, and she has a rack that leaves the men nearby leering with jealousy.

Jason, however, pays her no mind when he spots Tim standing a few meters away, looking so much better it’s almost insulting.

He shoots the girl a short smile. Though, based on the way Bruce scowls at him afterwards, he suspects it probably looked more akin to a grimace than he anticipated. But that’s fine. As long as Tim’s still pleased with him, everything else is fine.

He crosses the marble flooring in a few long strides. Halfway through his journey, Tim catches sight of him. He smiles, beckons Jason to come with a flutter of his lashes and coy smile but makes no effort himself to move. Probably because he knows he doesn’t need to, the brat. He knows Jason will come running no matter what, like a starving dog hungry for a gentle touch.

And Jason does.

He stops in front of Tim with his breath lodged in his throat. Tim looks beautiful tonight. Jason’s just enough of a sap to admit it to himself, but not enough to say it out loud.

Instead, he haltingly says, “You — you look good,” and winces when his voice cracks.

He feels like a teenager again. This, he thinks, he definitely didn’t miss.

Regardless, Tim smiles easily before tilting his head to the side amicably. A beautiful string of diamonds glitters under the chandelier lights up above them, highlighting the smooth line of Tim’s neck with scattered light-refracted rainbows. It takes everything in Jason to stop himself from staring.

Still, he can’t help but look. He looks at Tim’s wicked pout and all the jewels he dons. On everyone else, such a blatant display only aggravates Jason. On Tim, however, it fascinates. Not to mention, his necklace — a dainty drop-pendant type thing — draws a sinful line down the low cut of Tim’s top that seamlessly invites everyone to gaze down even further at Tim’s trim waist to his cropped, fitted pants and downright deadly stilettos.

They’re Louboutin’s, the classic patent leather ones with that signature red lacquer on the bottom. Jason may not know much about high fashion despite all of Alfred’s attempts to teach him, but, at the very least, he knows about Louboutin’s. Usually, he finds the red bottoms obnoxious, but, on Tim he quite likes it.

It matches Jason’s colors a bit.

(And, if Tim would just give him a chance to slip those heels off to kiss and nose his way up from those pretty little ankles to the top of Tim’s lovely thighs, then they could match even more in other ways.)

Tim voice breaks him out of his thoughts.

“You look quite nice yourself. I’m pretty sure this might be my second time seeing you in a suit. It’s a shame you don’t wear one more often,” Tim says. His speaks thoughtfully, voice soft and smooth. He’s probably playing himself up as some kinda precious, meek little thing that everyone can fawn over.

Judging by the jealous looks Jason gets from several of the other guests there, it’s probably working.

But Jason knows differently.

So, he throws his shoulders back and smirks with all the gusto he can manage when Tim’s staring up at him so pretty like that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I especially like the way they highlight your shoulders.”

“Not my thighs?” Jason teases. Buying the pants had been a huge pain in the ass because of his massive thighs — so much so that he had nearly ripped a pair apart after trying to force them up. Dick had mocked him for it later, talking about how “dummy thick” with two C’s Jason must be, but Tim has always appreciated them, so Jason can’t really complain.

“Oh, I figured that much was obvious,” Tim breezes. He swirls his glass of champagne experimentally before taking a long sip.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing you say it out loud, though.”

“And stroke your ego even more? Never.”

Jason bites his tongue to stop himself from blurting out, “But you love stroking something else, huh?” His etiquette may not be charm school level of acceptable, but even he has some tact. Sometimes.

In the end, he says, “But you won’t stop me from stroking yours?” instead. It’s a perfect mix of appropriate and suggestive, in his opinion. A success.

Tim’s grin suggests he might even agree. “Flattery will get you everywhere. Why else do you think I got so dressed up?”

“You got all dolled up just for me? Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

“I do love to impress big, handsome men like yourself.”

“And you said you weren’t gonna stroke my ego today.”

Tim lifts his otherwise-unoccupied hand to brush his fingers against Jason’s arm.

“I guess I just can’t help myself around you,” Tim purrs.

For the second time that night, Jason bites down hard on his own traitorous tongue to avoid making a fucking fool of himself. Tim just looks too good like that, though, with such sweet and sour words dripping from his mouth. Vaguely, he can sense people watching them. Gossiping about them. Wondering exactly what’s going on between them.

_Do you think it’s serious? Or are they just flirting a bit?_

_You think that’s his type? I could bulk up a bit too, if I had to._

_Oh, but what about the other one? He looks like he’d be really impressive, if you know what I mean._

_When will that giant leave? The Drake heir’s spent all his time talking to him. It’s not fair, you know. I want a piece of that ass too._

Jason grits his teeth before exhaling sharply through his nose. Apparently, even the elite are nothing but disgusting assholes sometimes. Though, that’s really nothing new.

Tim stares at Jason questioningly. His glass is still half-full, and being tethered down with the nice crystal will only open Tim up to further attention the second Jason peels his eyes away.

And that would be… real fucking annoying.

Jason waits for a single moment to see whether or not Tim will go ahead and finally finish his drink. Tim takes a few sips before deciding he’s had enough for now.

Not good enough.

Without a single word, Jason grabs ahold of Tim’s glass before downing the rest in a few hearty gulps. Then, he quickly sets it down on the nearest, seemingly-solid surface and turns back to Tim with a set smile.

“Wanna dance?” he asks. The delivery is ungraceful at its finest, but he doubts Tim ever expects much grace from him anyway.

Tim blinks up at him once, expression open and taken aback, before his face smooths itself back down into a saccharine and sensual lift of his lips.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Tim says. He lifts his previously-preoccupied hand up to fit in Jason’s outstretched reach, and it’s warm. “Did you need a bit of liquid courage to work yourself up to it?”

“Just figured dancing would be a bit difficult with that glass in your hand.”

Jason squeezes Tim’s hand gently as they step to the side towards the unofficial dancing area of the room. Tim squeezes back. For some reason, Jason’s throat clenches, too.

“How considerate of you,” Tim says, and then they’re off.

Jason, admittedly, is not the best dancer. He knows a few basic steps and can follow a beat passably well, but anything more complicated than that goes far beyond his capabilities. Thankfully, even he can fake-waltz fairly well. It’s just a ¾ time signature with a few coordinated stepping patterns and turns. As long as he follows Tim’s lead, he should be fine.

“Didn’t peg you as someone who knew how to waltz,” Tim says as the music begins to pick up. They complete another turn, and Jason even works up the cheesy gumption to dip Tim down a touch at the end. Thankfully, he doesn’t drop him. Tim even chuckles a bit as he comes back up.

Jason hates how proud he is of himself for that.

Then, the song ends sooner than Jason would’ve liked, surprisingly. They step away from each other, but, honestly, they don’t move very far. Jason’s hand still rests on the small of Tim’s back. Tim makes no move to pull away.

“How about another one? I think the orchestra is about to perform a more interesting song,” Tim says.

“I don’t think I’d be very good at dancing to something interesting,” Jason admits. “I’d hate to step on your tail by being a poor dance partner.”

“Just follow my lead. I’ll make it simple.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even a plea. Tim speaks in absolutes born from a demand, and Jason can’t say no, even though he has to so many other people before — including _Batman_.

How fucking embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing, this whole thing. It’s embarrassing how quickly he complies and how readily he pulls Tim closer to him again as the next song begins. He’s a goddamn embarrassment, based on the way Bruce frowns at him while Dick sniggers away at the sight of Tim leading Jason into something like a twirl.

Fucking embarrassing.

But Jason cannot, in all honesty, say he hates it.

If he had to describe this dance, he might call it a tango tossed together with a samba. The music doesn’t exactly fit Tim’s bold steps and sideways hip thrusts, but he makes it work nonetheless. Even as the other guests eye them with an infuriatingly keen mix of offense to their delicate sensibilities and interest for their morning-after gossip, Tim pays them no mind. He just continues to lead Jason on.

And Jason follows. So, so easily he follows.

Embarrassing.

Somehow, he doesn’t mind being so _whipped_ when Tim twirls back to face Jason with a sinful smile.

“Hold on tight.”

Tim whirls out away from Jason again, only to press his back flush against Jason’s chest upon his return. Of course, that also means that his ass is so, terribly close and pressed firm against Jason’s dick, and — God, Tim feels good.

Tim steps to the side. Jason, too, steps without a thought. He finds it a bit difficult to focus on things like higher-level thinking when Tim feels so nice and warm in front of him.

“And you thought you’d be bad at this,” Tim says. He tilts his head back and to the side before resting his temple against Jason’s chest as he glances up with those lovely blue eyes of his.

“Even I know a few moves,” Jason replies. He emphasizes his point by sliding his calf up and against on of Tim’s on their next turn.

Tim smirks as he presses back.

“I guess you really can teach and old dog new tricks sometimes.”

“ _Woof_.”

Jason slides a hand down from Tim’s waist down to his hip. Not quite imperceptibly, Tim lets out a quiet groan as he pushes back even more.

They are being decidedly rude and rowdy for such a fine event. Even vulgar, maybe. Alfred might even describe this whole thing as an “egregious display of their lack of respect for the other esteemed guests who have contributed to a worthy cause”. Except, Jason notices that Alfred looks oddly pleased from where he stands in the far corner of the room.

Bruce looks both constipated and like he’s moments away from shitting himself. It’s a lovely look on him, Jason thinks.

Jason notices all that until he realizes that the song’s about to come to a close. Then, all he can think about is Tim purring up against him, and he takes the leap.

He cranes his neck down to whisper in Tim’s ear. “Come home with me tonight?”

Expression rueful, Tim looks up at him again. “I’m sorry. I’d love to, but I can’t tonight.” With the kinda flexible grace that leaves Jason’s mouth watering, Tim shimmies himself around to look at Jason face-to-face. “Rain check?”

Tim looks sincere, Jason thinks — hopes — he sounds sincere, too.

“Alright,” Jason says. The song comes to a close. “I’ll keep my schedule upon for when you’re not busy stealing from the rich. Whose jewelry are you eyeing today?”

Tim smirks. “I was thinking Madame Jodal over there. She has a stunning pair of diamond and emerald earrings that are just calling my name. She keeps stuff like that locked up on a vault, courtesy of her security team, but I think I could sneak over and get them today.”

Jason cranes his neck to look. They do look nice. They’d look even nicer on Tim.

“I’m also pretty sure she keeps some of her art forgeries in there, too, so that’s a plus, I’m sure Gordon would love to see that,” Tim continues, sliding his ass against Jason’s eager, but woefully-clothed cock once more.

“You’re amazing, aren’t you? Always thinking of the greater good like that,” Jason deadpans.

“Oh, you’re so sweet to me, thinking about me so highly. How will I ever make it up to you?”

“Stand in front of me. For just a little while longer.”

Silence. Tim blinks up at Jason with big eyes before he finally catches on. “Really? You’re not some hormonal teenage boy anymore, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. Save it for the next time we meet and you don’t rub your ass against my crotch,” Jason grumbles.

“I’ll save it for the next time you I find you sporting a raging boner after taking down a few pimps,” Tim replies lightly. Jason scowls. In response, Tim lifts a delicate eyebrow, and Jason’s lost before he ever really had a chance.

But Tim stays. He stays put until Jason gently nudges at him to tell him that the crisis has been successful averted, and then he stays some more. They even talk and share a few drinks as the night goes on, and it’s…

Well. It’s nice. Really nice.

 

* * *

 

The whole “rain check for a nice cuddle and potential fuck under Jason’s cheap, scratchy, and bleached-white sheets” hadn’t been a lie. He truly meant that he’d try to keep his schedule as free as he possibly could for Tim. Of course, even the most well-intentioned promises don’t always mean much when it comes to the hectic lives of vigilantes and cat burglars. But it’s the thought that counts. Jason hasn’t seen Tim in white awhile, though, so he figures the rain check will probably have to wait a little while longer.

It does not.

He barrels into the apartment with a growls and dumps his bloodied weapons into the kitchen sink. He’ll clean them up later when he’s not so exhausted. Then, he hastily strips himself and takes a quick shower to get rid the grime before tossing his even bloodier clothes into the nearest hamper. Sometimes, he misses the days when Alfred used to take care of all this inane bullshit for him because he was Robin, and Robin had better things to do with his free time than wash his own clothes.

But now he’s the Red Hood, and murderous crime-fighters gotta do their own laundry.

He even makes his bed now because coming back to a messy after a long day has begun to grate on his nerves the older he gets. So, he knows his bed shouldn’t look like this — blankets crumpled up, pillows fluffed askew with a suspicious lump in the middle of it all. For a split second, Jason feels like one of those confused little bears after Goldilocks ransacked their house.

Then, he remembers he keeps weapons hidden just about everywhere in his safe houses. The three little bears couldn’t say the same for themselves.

He grabs a gun. His close-combat skills are perfectly acceptable — more than that, really, thanks to Bruce and then Talia — but he’d be an absolute idiot to think that no one out there’s better than him. So, a gun’s good for that, amongst other things.

He removes the safety. The figure doesn’t stir at the click.

“Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing here?” Jason demands, voice harsh, senses at the ready.

The lump shifts, little by little, then all at once as the mystery person sits up. Through the dark, Jason spots ruffled and glossy black hair, a perfect little pout, and bleary blue eyes blinking up at him like an cat interrupted mid daytime nap.

“Tim?” Jason asks incredulously.

“What do you want? I’m sleeping over here,” Tim mumbles, as unhappy as Jason is confused, even though Jason’s the one who should be getting pissy right about now.

“What are you doing here?”

Tim blinks owlishly, as if Jason’s gone crazy. “What do you mean? I just came to help warm your bed while you were away.”

Jason has many questions, and it’d probably be fair for him to ask Tim each and every one of them, all things considered. But he doesn’t because Tim looks every bit the part of a pampered kitten, and Jason would hate to be the nasty, hulking guy to ruin such peace.

So, he settles for a, “Would’ve appreciated a bit of a warning. I could’ve killed you, you know.”

“But you didn’t.”

No. He didn’t.

“Still, didn’t your momma ever teach you that it’s rude to break into people’s homes unannounced?”

The lights are still off, but Tim’s eyes look terribly sharp nonetheless.

“I guess she always told me to be a good boy, but, in hindsight, she never really taught me how,” Tim responds. He sounds pretty awake now.

In hindsight, Jason kinda misses that gentle, off-guard sleepy glaze to his eyes.

Suddenly, the exhaustion hits Jason full-force, and he just wants to snuggle and not think about things so much anymore.

“Well, guess I can’t turn you away now. That’d be too sad, like throwing out a sweet little street cat,” Jason says, already stripping out of the lingering remnants of his clothes.

Tim softens around the edges until he’s all luscious and languid again. “Right? Though, I’d argue that you look the part of a mangy mutt far more than I make as a stray cat right now.”

Jason shucks off his boxers before shrugging. “Beating up baddies will do that to you.”

“Beating _off_ to beating up baddies, you mean.”

“Don’t start that again,” Jason mutters past Tim’s snickering.

Tim’s too busy laughing at his own terrible idea of a joke to truly take in Jason and all his nude glory, but, when Jason slides his way under the covers to press his bare crotch against Tim’s lightly-clothed ass, Tim finally has the decency to pay some proper attention to him.

Though, of course he does so just to say, “And you were trying to convince me that fighting crime doesn’t get you hard,” but it’s whatever. Tim pushes back regardless, and the friction just feels so, so _good_.

“You don’t believe that this stiffy is all because of you? Please, you should think more highly of yourself,” Jason says, and his words swirl against the back of Tim’s neck with his breath like a promise to be kept.

Tim shivers. Oh, that’s really nice. He cranes his head back, melts into Jason’s chest, and says, “You have such a way with words, don’t you?”

“For you? Always.”

Tim snorts out a quick laugh before settling back down again. Gotham’s never exactly quiet, but this particular safe house is located in a reasonably-nice neighborhood. As a result, instead of gunshots and heated arguments, they’re greeted by the sound of raucous kids and blaring music to help lull them to sleep.

And Tim only kicks him a small handful of times in his sleep. He’s getting better. Jason’s always been a fan of improvement.

Though, Tim apparently hasn’t gotten rid of his nasty oversleeping habit yet. Or, maybe it’s just him being lazy. Either way, he barely stirs even when Jason purposefully makes a scene out of whipping all the blankets here and there as he gets out of bed at a little past noon.

“Are you planning on laying around all day?” Jason asks.

Tim only digs his face deeper into the pillow.

“You really gonna just stay in bed?”

He sinks his fingers into Tim’s hair. In hindsight, running his nails across Tim’s scalp isn’t exactly great incentive for him to get up and out of bed, but Jason does it anyway. In turn, Tim leans into the touch with a contented sigh, and the whole scene screams uncharacteristically and probably dangerously domestic.

It makes Jason feel uneasy, all of this. Uneasy and so pleased, like he’s floating across the gently lapping waters of a calm beach while Bruce watches over him because he never died. He never became the Red Hood, and they never had to fight. Jason could just exist and be happy with Bruce.

The thought makes him feel uneasy and pleased.

Jason digs his fingers in deeper before drawing away. Tim watches him go with a curious expression.

“At least brush your teeth while I make some breakfast.”

Tim snuggles deeper beneath the covers as his bats his dark, long lashes. “Oh, I do love a good breakfast in bed.”

“You are not eating in my bed. Hurry, get up and tell me what you want, or else you’re getting whatever I want.”

Tim deliberates for a moment. “French toast.”

“Alright. Get yourself cleaned up and meet me in the kitchen.”

Honestly, Jason doesn’t actually expect Tim to do as he says. After all, he truly is as much a cat as the one he likes to dress up as, all willful and needy. So, he secretly resigns himself to playing Tim’s faithful boy toy for the morning, even as he shoots Tim once last determined look before turning heel.

But, perhaps, cats can be tamed with enough patience and petting.

( _Lots_ of petting.)

Tim pads into the kitchen about fifteen minutes later, wrapped up in one of Jason’s oversized hoodies.

“Mighty convenient of you to keep so many spare toothbrushes around,” Tim says. He also finally makes his appreciation of Jason’s barely-clothed body known; his eyes rove across Jason’s bare chest and thighs for quite some time before landing on where Jason’s dick is hidden by his underwear.

Of course, Jason can’t get enough of that.

“Dick likes to visit every once in awhile, and he can never remember which toothbrush is his. I don’t want him accidentally using mine, so I just let him have a new one each time,” Jason explains with a shrug.

“Oh, yes, the acrobat older brother. I should’ve waited to come on a day when he was around, too. I’d love to have twice the fun with both of you, you know.”

“Hate it to break it to you, but I don’t think you’re Dick’s type. You don’t have that signature redheaded look he likes so much.”

Tim’s lips quirk up into a small smile. “Well, at least you still find me attractive.”

That he does.

(He finds Tim nothing short of beautiful, especially when he’s coming, desperately trying to keep his eyes opened and locked on Jason’s, even as his face scrunches up from the way his mouth tends to drop open in pleasure. Tim moans a lot, low and steady with plenty of sweet words that hardly make any sense, and, at the very end, he whimpers in time with the shake of his thighs.

Jason, too, keeps his eyes fixed as tight on Tim as he can during it all. Because Tim is so fucking beautiful, and Jason wants it all, viciously like the crackle of a thunder-strike on the waves.

The smell it leaves behind is intoxicating.)

“I think you’ve beat those eggs enough.”

Jason blinks. He went at the eggs so hard he now has yellowed eggy cream goop all over his countertop. He quickly wipes it away before reaching for the huge tub of cinnamon sugar he pilfered from the manor a few weeks ago.

“You make French toast a lot?” Jason asks to distract himself from his still-persistent thoughts of fucking Tim stupid.

“Not really. I don’t cook much at all, really.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about the whole rich heir thing.” Jason eyes Tim as he dumps out the cinnamon sugar, silently inviting Tim to tell him when to stop. It takes a bit. “Still, your parents never bothered to teach you a few basic dishes, just in case?”

Tim shrugs before burying his hands in the pocket of Jason’s hoodie. “No. They were never around enough for that. They just gave me fun little toys before heading off and telling me to be a good boy for the staff. They were probably afraid I’d ruin everything they’d worked so hard for by burning the place down if I tried. They were certainly concerned about it when I came out as bi, at least,” Tim says softly.

Jason nearly crushes a piece of toast in his grip as he listens. But, he’s sure such a display would only upset Tim, so he makes sure to be extra gentle as he plops it into the mixture to soak.

“Well, it’s never too late to try,” Jason says. “It’s easy enough even I can do it, after all.”

“Maybe another time,” Tim hums. “I’m more interested in checking out your culinary skills for myself.”

“I only hope they’re good enough for you.”

“Me too.”

In the end, Tim seems plenty pleased, based on the way he devours three hefty slices like it’s nothing. He even agrees to try to make more himself after deciding he’s still hungry, but he somehow manages to scramble the egg mixture while leaving the toast a soggy mess in the aftermath.

Jason, of course, is expected to eat it regardless while Tim looks over at him with a Cheshire grin over his own fresh plate of actual French toast, courtesy of the kindness of Jason’s heart. It tastes like shit, but it’s palatable shit.

And Tim’s eyes soften so nicely when he sees Jason’s valiant efforts at swallowing his abomination of a French toast down. That kinda makes it worth the effort.

But pounding into Tim over Jason’s kitchen table definitely makes it worth the effort.

Jason doesn’t even know how it started, even though he does. He just doesn’t want to admit that the sight of Tim “accidentally” spilling maple syrup all over his thighs to then lick it off his fingers actually turned him on _a lot_. That’s embarrassing, and he’s already embarrassed himself enough, like a damn kid with his first crush on the most popular kid in school who surely can’t also like boys because life rarely works out that way.

At least, not for Jason it doesn’t.

So, he instead focuses on pinning Tim down with all the brute force he owns because, of nothing else, he can always trust the way Tim’s breath quickens whenever Jason presses himself down just a bit closer — harder.

“Jason,” Tim breathes in response to a particularly hard thrust. His bed head looks even wilder than before, splayed across the hastily-cleared table top, and the pinks of his cheeks pop viciously against the browns of the fake wood.

Not to mention, the gaudy red _Gotham_ sweatshirt Tim refuses to take off fires Jason up more than he’d like to admit, even if he can’t see the **TODD** emblazoned on the back from here.

All in all, Tim looks breathtaking, like he always does when he has Jason’s dick inside him. He looks like an absolute fucking dream, and Jason finds it all extremely unfair.

“ _Fuck_ , Jason, that’s good.”

Jason preens despite himself, grinning like a fucking fool at the breathy compliment. “Aren’t I always?”

“God, you really are,” Tim groans. Then, his head thumps back onto the table with a particularly pointed thrust on Jason’s part, and he settles with wrapping those delectable legs of his tight around Jason’s torso as he rides out the rest of their romp in mostly wordless bliss.

Jason, on the other hand, quite abruptly decides that today’s a perfect day to be mouthy. Maybe the comfort of his own safe house spurs him on, or maybe the strange kind of peacefulness they’ve fostered over the past few hours has turned him in a huge sap to rival even Dick.

Either way, he leans his head down to lay a line of wet kisses up Tim’s neck before nibbling at his earlobe.

“You feel so good,” Jason whispers. It shouldn’t even be possible, but he manages to flatten himself down against Tim even more. The feeling of Tim’s dick against his lower abdomen, leaking and hard, has him moaning low in the back of his throat. “You always feel good around me, so warm and tight. Like you were made for me — made for my cock to fuck you so good you can’t even speak. Isn’t that right, pretty kitty?”

Tim actually doesn’t speak this time. Jason rarely gets the upper hand against Tim, but it looks like all he needed was some dirty talk to leave Tim a wanton, whimpering mess underneath him who could only beg for more through heated exhales and slightly teary-eyes looks.

Jason loves it all. He wants more. He wants to taste Tim as much as he can and then some. Because he is greedy any always searching for something more, just like Bruce always said.

“You’re so good when you’re like this. So fucking pretty like this. Love getting you like this. God, you should see yourself.”

Jason picks up the pace, adjusting his angle until Tim’s practically sobbing from pleasure, clawing away at Jason’s back for purchase and _more_. Like this, the faint squelching of lube — lots of it because Jason wanted to open Tim up with slick fingers beforehand, just to watch him squirm — grows stronger. It sounds so fucking lewd, like something out of a trashy porno, like the ones ones Jason used to watch when he was younger.

The same ones that still get to him today. But, Tim’s hotter than any of that.

With a grunt, Jason snaps his hips forward harshly. Tim’s grown too quiet for his tastes. He wants to _feel_ Tim’s moans. Tim bounces up the table a few inches from the movement, mewling and keening with renewed vigor as he pants.

“Jason,” Tim gusts when he finally finds his voice again. He sounds maddeningly blissed out, and his eyes are so glazed-over he can hardly look at Jason properly.

He looks good like that. So good, and Jason’s obsessed.

“Jason,” Tim repeats, weak. “Jason, you’re killing me here.”

Jason smirks wickedly. “As if I’d let you go that easily.”

Tim scoffs, only to have it turn into another moan almost immediately. Jason also can’t hold back his own grunts because he’s getting so, so close, and all he cares about is pretty little Tim and _coming_.

Faintly, he registers Tim sliding his hands up from Jason’s back so he can lace his fingers in Jason’s hair. He tugs, once, and Jason growls at the burn.

“Kiss me?” Tim implores sweetly.

And how could Jason possibly ignore such a humble request? He lets Tim drag his head down and capture his mouth in a wet, needy kiss without a single complaint, and he feels Tim coming underneath him. Legs quivering, Tim breaks away from the kiss just enough so Jason can suck a mean hickey against the hollow of his throat as Tim’s cum splatters against his stomach.

He thrusts wildly, emboldened by the way Tim tightens around him, before coming just like that — mouth latched onto Tim’s neck like an anxious child against his mom’s leg, mind swimming with so much contentedness it almost frightens him.

Except, he’s too caught up in riding out the rest of his orgasm to care too much right now. No, he’d rather bask in the presence and singularity that is Tim, still pliant beneath him. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, fingers still roaming aimlessly through Jason’s hair. Jason leaves one last kiss against the base of Tim’s neck before moving his attentions back to his mouth, and everything truly is just fine and peachy for once.

“Take me to bed? I’m feeling a bit ticketed out, all of sudden,” Tim announces some time later.

“Already? We just woke up.”

“Come on, it’s Sunday. Sunday’s are supposed to be lazy days,” Tim argues. Already, he’s begun to squirm, futilely trying to break from from Jason’s frame and all his bulk. He’ll never quite beat Jason at this, per se. Jason will probably always have the upper hand when it comes to pure body mass alone. On the other hand, Tim seems to always know exactly how to get his way regardless.

(Or Jason’s just weak.)

Either way, Tim’s gonna win this eventually, so Jason decides to fold before he wastes both of their time. He abandons Tim just long enough to clean the both of them off, to Tim’s infinite displeasure, before picking Tim up bridal style and heading back to the bedroom, dishes be damned. With an insistent tug, Tim pulls Jason back in for another kiss, and Jason almost runs them both into the doorframe from the distraction; but what a good distraction it is.

“Such a gentleman,” Tim teases after Jason unceremoniously dumps him onto the bed.

“I try.”

Humming, Tim snuggles up to him once again after Jason settles back in, and the lingering afterglow takes them both within minutes.

 

* * *

 

 

Jason wakes up two hours later, groggy, disoriented, and uncomfortably full. The other side of the bed is cold.

Because Tim’s gone. Of course.

But, at least he was kind enough to leave behind a handy-dandy USB drive before disappearing into the Sunday afternoon glow. Just for that, Jason decides to forgive him for the shitty scrambled eggs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is starting to get more hints of a plot than i anticipated...
> 
> if you want to talk to me or want to know more about how you can support me or request a piece of writing, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)! i'm always happy to talk about whatever :)


	3. Chapter 3

Though, Jason must admit that he’s a bit pissed that Tim, apparently, insists on getting involved with the mafia even more than he already has.

“What are you doing here?” Jason hisses. His voice barely reaches above a whisper because giving them both away now wouldn’t do either of them any good, but he finds it impossible not to ask because Tim — Stray now, all costumed up — for someone godforsaken reason, is here. Here by the docks in the middle of the night, huddled behind one of many cargo loads and surrounded by the putrid smell of rotting fish and mafioso gunpowder. Worst of all, Jason has no idea why.

“I read those files too, you know. I know the Falcone’s are planning on smuggling thousands of firearms in to sell on the black market while they have a grand old laugh about selling faulty goods to the other families around here,” Tim whispers back. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t be selling real, proper weapons to other people, and Gotham already has enough going on without all of this. Love the new look, by the way. The face mask looks less ridiculous than that honking helmet you had before.”

“That’s why I’m gonna handle it. _Alone_.”

“Oh, but why? I’m already here, aren’t I?”

“That’s why I’m telling you to leave. You have no business getting involved in this.”

“Contrary to what you may or may not believe, I do also live in Gotham, you know, and I do care about keeping the city relatively safe,” Tim argues.

“What, from thieves like you?”

Tim snarls, and Jason hates how good he looks when he’s angry. Especially now that his eyes have the ability to gleam at him so freely now.

“Come on, you know I’m one of the better ones,” Tim whispers. “Probably better than you, at any rate.”

Jason smiles sharply, so wide his chin aches from it. Tim’s right, after all. There are plenty of people better than Jason out there, even in Gotham.

Thankfully, Tim can’t see the pinched corners of Jason’s mouth past his mask. At the same time, now that Jason’s also switched up his costume, Tim can probably see the wrinkles bunching up traitorously thick and deep across Jason’s forehead quite clearly.

“Look, I’m sorry. That was mean of me. You know I think you’re great,” Tim soothes, voice buttery and dipped in honey, like warm, homemade biscuits soaked in Alfred’s special, beautifully saccharine sauce — the same ones Jason adored so much as a child, mouth and fingers smeared with sugar until Bruce sent him off to wash up in the bathroom with a quiet chuckle. “I just think you’d be even greater with someone to help out. It’s tough, trying to thwart a massive mafia family all by yourself.”

“I already have help. Oracle’s giving me intel,” Jason says. Of course, he neglects to mention that Barbara is silent now, still working to access the remaining cameras that have been tampered with recently all because her trust in him wavers wildly with each passing second. He just doesn’t find such details pertinent at the moment.

Nonetheless, Tim remains skeptical and stubborn.

“If I beg will you leave?” Jason finally asks, wound up in an embarrassing bout of desperation.

“No.”

“You don’t know what these guys are capable of,” Jason tries to reason. “Especially when it comes to pretty little things like you. They’re not like the high society of Gotham whose biggest crimes consist of money laundering and not giving a shit about anyone beneath them. These guys are actively trying to ruin people’s lives.”

“As if the nouveau riche aren’t always sitting around thinking of how to best ruin people’s lives. Besides, that’s just more reason for me to stick around. I appreciate the concern and all, but it’s not like I’m some useless piece of decoration who can’t take down a few thugs. You won’t have to keep watch over me the whole time or whatever you’re worried about,” Tim says.

Jason opens his mouth to make another futile rebuttal, only to be interrupted by Oracle, crackling through his ear.

“I have everything set up and ready for you to go, but you have to act fast. They’re already starting to get several of the shipments ready for transport, and after that it’ll be far more difficult for us to deal with. You might need some hands-on help to make sure everything goes smoothly,” she says, tone matter-of-fact and more than slightly amused. She surely knows Tim’s there, and she eats it up with glee.

“Oracle says we have to move fast, or else we’ll lose them,” Jason says.

“ _We_? So, you’re gonna finally let me help instead of just arguing with me behind this storage box?”

“Don’t think this means this discussion is over,” Jason whispers, even as he goes from a painful squat to a slightly less painful crouch. “I still have a lot more to say about this after this is over.”

“I had hoped that we would just fuck in celebration afterwards.”

“You can’t distract me with that this time. Not after you ran away with those documents,” Jason says.

“Oh please, as if I’m that maniacal.”

“You’re right. You’re not nearly as good as Catwoman when it comes to this crafty seduction thing. It just _happens_ for you.”

Tim smirks. “Doesn’t that mean I’m actually fantastic at this then?”

“That just means you’re damn lucky you’re cute. Now come one, we gotta go.”

Jason moves quickly after that. He’s been down to the docks several times before for all sorts of reasons. So, even as the barrels and storage tanks shift and change, he finds it easy to weave between them towards the large shipment with all the men surrounding it who don’t even pretend to act surreptitiously. Probably because they don’t really have to; the Gotham Police Department have always been a bunch of pussies when it came to the Falcone’s. Even poor Commissioner Gordon could never get a foot over them.

But it’s not too surprising, he supposes. The Falcone’s ‘donate’ plenty of money to the higher-ups.

Jason’s not like them, though — soft and law-abiding, aside from the rampant corruption. He’s here for blood.

Tim, apparently, also claims some stakes in this whole affair. As such, he follows Jason’s wild weaving diligently, never falling more than a few short steps behind. For as short as he is compared to Jason, Tim move strong and assured in long strides, and Jason almost wishes Tim would just stumble and lag behind just so he wouldn’t have to get involved.

Except, the point of no return hits them sooner than later.

Jason would never consider himself the sniper type, but he likes to think his shot’s pretty good. So, he easily takes down a few of the lumbering men patrolling the outskirts of the operation. Tim, in turn, sneaks past them during the small scuffle to incapacitate another small handful of men with nothing more than those wonderful thighs of his and the whip he touts. Like a man possessed by all of his baser desires, Jason watches the display with a messy conglomeration of rapt awe and envy. Then, once it ends, he steps up to finish them off once and for all.

Tim stops him with a gentle hand and even gentler smile. “It’s fine. He’ll be out for awhile.”

“I’d rather not take any chances.”

“Leave him. It’ll just draw more attention,” Tim argues resolutely. His hand stiffens, just a smidge, but it’s more than enough for an increasingly sentimental man like Jason.

He sighs. “Fine. Have it your way. Let’s keep going, then.”

Tim smiles brightly, and then he’s off, surging ahead of Jason as if he knows exactly where they’re going even without Oracle In his ear. Though, Tim might actually be the lucky one, in these case; he doesn’t have to suffer through Babs persistently chortling away like a teasing banshee.

They encounter several more guards along the way, and Tim proves excellent in catching them unaware in time for Jason to take them out — but only by knocking them unconscious. Tim refuses to allow him much more than that, and Jason’s too tired and focused on the mission at hand to make a fuss about it, he reasons to himself.

It has nothing to do with the fact that he always struggles to argue with Tim when he looks up at Jason with those alluring eyes and unfairly kissable lips of his. It has nothing to do with the way Jason sometimes feels himself soften against his better judgement when Tim approaches him, beginning way back when when Tim used to be nothing more than Stray and an aloof brat. It certainly has nothing to do through those shy, tentative smiles of his up to the assured and sultry looks he gives Jason now, like a forgotten plea absentmindedly thrown over his slim, lithe shoulders. Of course not.

And it most definitely has nothing to do with the way Jason’s breath catches hold fast in his throat, sharpened claws and all, when he sees Tim glance at Jason over his shoulder with a feather-down smile.

“Isn’t it nice, having someone watching your back?” Tim asks.

“You’re one to talk. You’ve been quite the lonely figure for years now, ever since you broke away from Catwoman to do your own thing,” Jason replies.

Tim’s smile melts like down wrung through the dryer on high heat. “But it gets awfully lonely at times, doesn’t it? I’ve been alone before, and I never quite liked it. Anyway, it’s not like I don’t keep in touch with her. She’s good like that.”

Jason doesn’t respond. Tim turns away from him as though he never even expected a response in the first place, and they go on. And, if Jason follows behind Tim a few steps closer now, it has anything to do with the tense slope of Tim’s shoulders or the disappointed silence Barbara gives him.

Thankfully — and unfortunately — he doesn’t have much time to think about all that minutes later.

Oracle tells him about the ambush two seconds too late. Presumably, Falcone’s men went ahead and prepared this set-up when Barbara was struggling to gain control over the few surveillance cameras in the area. Jason can’t exactly begrudge her for it, but he still wishes she could’ve warned him about Deathstroke hiding in the rafters.

He goes for Jason first, and Jason barely has enough time to dodge the swing of his blade before several other bodyguards come barreling towards him. Suddenly, the whole operation has gone to absolute shit, and he needs more time and breathing space than this to improvise.

Tim pops up in front him like one of those plastic turd-looking targets during a game of whack-a-mole — only much nicer to look at it — and he manages to incapacitate a few thugs fairly quickly, despite the volley of bullets and other projectiles ricocheting towards them. Then, Deathstroke turns his attention on the new menace wreaking havoc against his employers, a la pretty little Stray here, and the distraction gives Jason just enough time to get in cheap shot against Deathstroke before be hauls Tim away from the main warehouse.

“So, what do we do now?” Tim asks as they sprint away.

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought you were supposed to be the strategic one here. You’re always telling me how bad my plans always turn out.”

“Well, yeah, look at this,” Tim scoffs. “Maybe if you hadn’t thrown a huge fuss by destroying the Falcone’s main computer a few days ago, they wouldn’t be so cautious right now.”

“They’re always cautious.”

“Then maybe you should’ve thought of that beforehand.”

Jason says nothing. Of course he had thought of it beforehand. The Falcone’s were always cautious. Tim likely knows that, too, which further begs the question why, in God’s name, he’s here, but that’s beside the point now because, even Jason thought of it, of all the different gadgets and weapons he could bring, pilfered from the Batcave, he hadn’t expected Deathstroke, of all people, to be here. Because Deathstroke’s expensive and almost seemed to have a semblance of morals for a short time, as if he were following in his daughter’s reckless but overall righteous change of heart.

Except, he’s here anyway, and Deathstroke rarely falls victim to paltry tricks like gas canisters or flash bombs. Even if Jason gets the chance to go against him head-to-head with no distractions from random goons, he doubts he’d get far. Having Tim might help him a bit, but all they’d accomplish by doing that is giving the Falcone’s enough time to finish their smuggling operation while Deathstroke has them otherwise occupied.

“We can’t do this head-on,” Tim says. He rounds a corner sharply, and Jason struggles to keep up with the way Tim practically floats over the turn.

“What do you suggest, then?” Jason asks. “They know we’re here. They probably have all their men at the ready to track us down right now.”

“There’s a temporary storage unit near the outskirts of the dock, to the northeast” Oracle cuts in. “It’s a bit hidden away, especially in the middle of the night like this, so it might be a good place for you to lay low for awhile until you guys can get your bearings and come up with a decent plan.”

“But by then they might have already gotten all the guns out,” Jason argues.

“Better that than you two dead. If you’re alive, you can always try again another day.”

Jason sighs. He supposes she’s right. So, he changes direction, urges Tim to follow him, and they go.

Like she said, the makeshift warehouse is barely visible beneath the vegetation around it and the low visibility of the overcast skies. Of course, the possibility that Falcone’s men know about it certainly exists, but they scurry inside regardless and breath a slight sigh of relief when the sound of angry voices gradually fades away.

“Alright,” Jason begins when he feels safe enough to, “what now? We’re no match for Deathstroke. You and I both know that.”

“Then we avoid him. I doubt he really cares to hunt us down if we don’t get in his way.”

“Us being here is in his way.”

“Then we go back in and get out before he can catch us.”

“Yeah, I got that. But how?”

Silence. Tim’s thinking, brows scrunched up a lips pouted, and Jason thinks that men like the Falcone’s would most certainly not be good for someone like Tim.

“Well, why don’t we just blow the place up?” Tim suggests, so casually Jason thinks he must have lost his mind somewhere back there; maybe Deathstroke actually got him real good, and he’s having another strange delusion right before he dies where everyone says inane things, and Batman doesn’t come to save him. Or, maybe it’s a Lazarus Pit induced fantasy, and he’s never been alive this whole time.

Jason blinks away the frantic spots in the corner of his eyes and subtly pinches himself in the crook of his elbow to check if he’s asleep — dreaming. Tim watches him the whole time, curious, but still there.

“Are you serious?” Jason eventually asks. “You want to blow the fucking docks up? With all these people here?”

“I didn’t think you’d be one to have issue with that,” Tim responds smoothly.

“Maybe not, but I’m pretty sure you do.”

“You really think they’re all _that_ dedicated to the Falcone’s?” Tim asks.

“Some of them, probably.”

Tim shrugs. “It’s fine. You’ve seen what people are like when they’re about to die. I’m sure they’ll all run when it starts to get bad.”

Jason licks his lips silently. A far-away look creeps across Tim’s face, like he doesn’t even see Jason there in front of him — like he doesn’t even care. Oracle, too, is strangely silent on the other side of the comm, but Jason knows she can hear everything from the faint, ever-present buzz in his ear.

He takes a step forward. Briefly, Tim’s eyes flicker to the side to look at him, but then he returns to that strange expression that Jason just hates.

So he says, “Alright. Fine.”

Now, Tim turns to him completely with a vacant smile. “Excellent. Now, let’s go before they get ahead of us.”

Jason nods and wonders what in the fuck is going on.

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, he doesn’t do anything. There are no huge explosions, no bloody body parts in the river alongside melted metal and fish gone belly-up from the trauma. They don’t even have trouble with Deathstroke after he made the executive decision to leave, money be damned because, as Oracle alluded to before, there’s not much one can do as a dead man.

And Superboy, while not one to go around killing people like the nice, red, black, and blue boy he is, certainly poses as a distinct threat, even to super mercenaries. So, like an intelligent man with his own best interests at heart, Deathstroke dips out and no explosions are necessary to overpower the rest of Falcone’s men there.

“Everything under control? Need me to do something with all these guns?” Superboy asks. Even now, after growing up into a fine adult — physically, at least — he maintains that youthful glow Jason hardly remembers on himself, save for the photographs Bruce has of him stashed away in corners of his estate.

And Jason can’t decide if he’s jealous of or just sorry for the guy.

Either way, he says no and adds on a pertinent, “You better get going. You know how Batman feels about Super’s in Gotham.”

“How could I forget? He almost shot me right out of the sky with a chunk of kryptonite the last time he caught me,” Superboy grumbles.

“Thanks for all your help,” Tim interjects. “Gotham will be slightly less crime-ridden now.”

“I guess that’s all we can ask for sometimes,” Superboy says before he flies away, leaving Jason and Tim behind to follow the orders Oracle keeps barking into Jason’s ear. They follow her instructions down to a T, piling the weapons together by type for easy sorting by the Gotham Police Department when they arrive in twenty minutes — slow and ineffectual as ever. She also suggests they take inventory as best as they can before the police arrive, just in case.

“Commissioner Gordon will take care of the rest from there,” Barbara says. And she does speak as Barbara now, based on the gentle weariness in the back of her throat. “Promise.”

Jason doubts it because Commissioner Gordon hasn’t properly taken care of anything in Gotham for years, but he doesn’t say as much aloud. Having an angry Oracle in his ear, watching him, appeals to no part of him, and upsetting Barbara with the truth she so desperately avoids all the time sounds even worse.

So, he goes on approximating everything they’ve seized alongside Tim while they wait for someone else to take it and the unconscious men on the floor off their hands.

“I didn’t know you were so close to Superboy,” Jason says.

Tim doesn’t respond for a bit, too preoccupied with going through a particularly large case of semi-automatics. Then, he turns with Jason with thsf secretive smile of his, less sincere than his look earlier but much more welcome.

“Don’t worry, we’re just friends. I happened to meet him once on a vacation to Hawaii, and it just kinda went from there.”

“He knows who you are, then?”

“Oh yeah,” Tim hums. “But he’s a good guy. He won’t sell me out or anything.”

“Of course not. I bet he has plenty of other things to worry about, like trying to keep the demon brat in line.”

Tim’s grin widens, and it spreads wide and genuine, like deep watercolor pigment across a long smear of clear water. “Oh, he most definitely does, but I’m glad he helps keep the kid away from me now.”

“Robin’s only mean because he has a crush on you,” Jason scoffs. “You know what emotionally-stunted, assassin boys at that age are like.”

“I guess you were also pretty mean to me when we were younger.”

Some kind of response is warranted after a statement like that, Jason thinks. Except, before he can say anything, Oracle interrupts.

“They’ll be arriving in a few minutes. I suggest you two get out of there now, so you can continue this heartfelt conversation somewhere else.”

She’s teasing him — teasing the both of them, probably, but Jason chooses to focus on ushering Tim out of there instead of dwelling on that. Like kids caught making out in their old, crotchety neighbor’s backyard, they scurry away swiftly to where they left their bikes, hidden haphazardly by shrubbery. Jason watches with more than a little fascination as Tim straddles his own bike, thighs flexing deliciously, before he hops onto his own.

“Alright, lead the way,” Jason says.

Tim looks back, and, even though Jason can’t actually see them past the mask, he knows Tim studies him with an eyebrow raised.

“What, you forget the way to your own place in all the commotion?” Tim asks.

“Just want to make sure you get home safe.”

Tim’s eyes melt. “You’re being too good to me.”

“I’m just being polite,” Jason says after swallowing down a pile of emotions he is too ill-equipped to deal with right now.

Thus, he sees Tim back to his gorgeous Drake residence, costume carefully hidden away in a secret cellar, with nothing more than a chaste kiss and an awkward farewell as one of Tim Drake’s several guards stare him down from the entryway.

“Thanks for tonight. I had a really fun time,” Tim drawls. “You sure you don’t wanna come inside? I can fix you any drink you’d like.”

Jason rolls his eyes, and on of the guards frowns. “No thanks. I’ll just see you again some other time.”

“At least give me a goodnight kiss before you go?”

Jason spares a quick glance at the bulkiest guard of them all. He looks back at Jason without hesitation, unimpressed. He makes no move to stop Jason, though, so, despite how much he hates PDA and all that sappy shit, Jason somehow finds it impossible to stop himself from leaning forward and giving Tim the most chaste kiss they’ve ever shared.

“Stay safe on your way back. There are some nasty people out there, you know,” Tim says.

Jason walks away after that with nothing more than a scoff. As he rides away, he hears several police cruisers pass by a small distance away, alarms blaring. Hopefully, they’ve managed to do something right for once because he’s exhausted and in the mood to completely crash after a nice, hot shower to get out the stench of deep-set sweat and gunpowder.

And, if he sends one last text to Tim before he falls asleep to let him know he got back safe, all which Barbara continues to laugh in his ear —

Well, even he can be thoughtful sometimes.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time they team up together, it’s a fucking party.

There’s been a jailbreak at Arkham. Again. At some point, something’s gotta give, Jason thinks; that, or some people just gotta die, but Batman soars overhead, and, without even sparing a single glance his way, Jason knows there’ll be something worse than hell to pay if he goes and finally does what should’ve happened long ago.

At least the Joker’s nowhere in sight — hidden away in one of his many dank, dusty crevices around Gotham, probably. If he were here, Jason could make no promises to anyone — not even Tim and his lovely, imploring eyes.

Though, they still have to deal with Clayface, Scarecrow, and Poison Ivy, amongst all the smaller criminals having a damn field day all over the streets.

Thankfully, Catwoman and Stray joined in early. They’ve already rounded up plenty of the small fry before Jason or any of the other bats and birds even got there. Of course, that hardly makes the task much easier because Ivy’s got those damn plants all over them. It must be a new strain because none of the herbicides they already have concocted do much to slow their steady encroach.

Damian gets caught in a few of the tendrils within minutes. Dick frees him, to only then have Clayface barreling towards him in all his hulking, slightly-melted rage. Jason gets him hard in his side before shooting at his backside. It doesn’t do much, in the end, because of all the damn clay armor, but Batman still frowns at him so hard he gains two new wrinkles around his mouth.

“Careful there. Wouldn’t want to ruin that handsome face of yours,” Jason says.

Batman frowns harder before he, too, gives Clayface a smooth kick to the face.

In the meantime, Damian and Dick do their best against Poison Ivy. Like little mice in a fresh, new maze, they run around her quickly-growing vines with a distinct uncertainty in their step, but they persevere nonetheless. Though, Jason does take note of Damian getting distracted every so often with watching Tim prancing about in that skintight leather of his, ass pert and smirk ever-present even while bullets and knives sail in his direction. If it weren’t for Dick not thinking with his other dick for once, poor Robin might just be plant food right now.

Somehow, Jason doesn’t even realize how distracted he is, too, because Scarecrow comes out of nowhere, and then he’s too late.

With everything else going on, he forgot about Scarecrow. Most everyone else apparently did, too, and Tim’s still preoccupied with a particularly violent inmate. So, it’s not surprising that Scarecrow caught him off-guard.

But Tim doesn’t have the same immunities to the fear toxin that Jason and Batman’s other costumed crusaders have. Where he managed to get it so quickly is a mystery, but an unimportant one for now. Because, to Jason’s knowledge, Tim’s never been subjected to it before.

Jason never thought he would.

(Jason thought he’d be good enough now — better after leaving Batman so he’d be able to properly look after lonely little kittens on the street corner. Keep them safe.)

Everyone stills when Scarecrow snaps open one of his straws right in front of Tim, petrified by a confusion that quickly melts into horror. Then, they move.

Dick and Damian finally manage to deal with Poison Ivy before sprinting away from her to where Tim and Scarecrow stand. Bruce, too, reinvigorates himself against Clayface because the guy’s certainly a hardy bastard, but nowhere near invincible when faced with a pissy man in a giant bat costume.

So, that leaves Jason free to lunge towards Tim in a fit that almost feels out-of-body and absolutely uncontrollable, like he’s back in the pit and trying so fucking hard to find something he can’t quite remember. Catwoman, too, reaches for Tim as soon as she notices what’s going on, but not without clawing a ruby red scratch down Scarecrow’s side. He flinches away with a terrible wail, but no one seems to be able to find it in them to care.

Not after Tim lets out a positively gut-wrenching shriek that Jason feeling as if his entrails are outside himself as he bleeds away in desperation. Then, before Catwoman or Jason can reach him, Tim grapples away up the nearest high-rise building with so much fear-ridden, reckless abandon he almost crashes straight through a freshly-washed window, and now Catwoman’s screaming and raising hell.

Jason fumbles with his own grapple before following behind clumsily, and he prays everyone else can just deal with everything below him because he can’t possibly think of any of that now. For a brief, belated moment, he thinks about how he’s never prayed like this before.

Then, Tim cowers away from him so violently he nearly teeters right off the edge of the building, and nothing else even matters anymore.

“Stray,” Jason breathes because they can’t use real names here; they just can’t, no matter how callous he feels spouting off codenames right now when Tim’s staring at him with terror-filled eyes. “It’s just me. Come — Come over here. Away from the ledge. Please.”

Tim shakes his head, and his hair flows ironically in the nighttime wind. “Get away from me. Don’t touch me,” he hisses.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Tim shakes his head again, harsher this time, and he steps forward and back unsteadily. “You’re lying. You always say that, but then you always hurt me. You can’t fool me anymore.”

Jason swallows, and his throat tears apart at the seams. “I would never hurt you. Would never even dream of it. How could I ever hurt you?”

“Stop lying to me!”

“Baby, please,” Jason whispers.

It’s wet. His voice sounds wet.

Slowly, carefully, he takes a few hesitant steps forward. In response, Tim jerks backwards, and Jason is sure he has never before recoiled as quickly as he did in that moment, inertia fighting him as he backs down.

“Alright, alright, I won’t touch you,” Jason soothes. Tim just shakes even harder. Jason’s ribs rattle in turn. “I’ll even back away, see? So, please, come away from the edge. You’re gonna get hurt.”

“What — what do you care?” Tim demands, voice trembling and eyes blown so painfully wide he barely has any of those beautiful blues left, the ones Jason’s always so captivated by. He sways on his feet precariously, and it takes everything in Jason to stop himself from rushing forward and dragging Tim away by force because he might not be fast enough.

Might not be fast enough to stop the fall and the end.

“Because I care about you,” Jason admits softly. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. Ever.”

For a moment, the only thing that passes over them is the sound of the wind and a few exclamations for everyone below them. Then, Tim takes a step forwards and opens his mouth, only to be grabbed from behind by Batman.

“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Jason demands, sprinting over to them.

“Helping him,” Batman replies, brusque as always.

Rationally, Jason knows it’s for the best. Immobilizing Tim right now is certainly for the best. But, emotionally, he hates watching Bruce manhandle Tim while Tim kicks and hollers, voice raw and haunted in a way Jason’s never heard from him before.

He hates that sound. Never wants to face it ever again.

So, in an attempt to calm him down, Jason kneels beside Tim, extending a gentle hand.

Tim claws at him in an instant. The wound he inflicts is deep, and it feels like hell — bloody, sinewy, and gruesome.

“Stop! Leave me alone! I’ll be good, I promise. So let me go, please!” Tim shrieks, words steeped in sick desperation.

Instinctively, Jason draws away. At the same time, Bruce pulls out a syringe before injecting Tim with it, and, slowly but surely, Tim’s tense, horror delusion-ridden form begins to relax.

Catwoman appears seconds later, looking a little worse for wear but ultimately intact. “That’ll help him?” she asks softly.

“For now. We still have to get him back to the cave for further treatment,” Bruce says, infuriatingly aloof — always the stalwart one, even when barely-grown adults lay prone and drugged in his arms. Jason grits his teeth at the thought.

He nearly kills someone when he spots a tortured wrinkle reforming around Tim’s mouth.

At least Bruce has the decency to floor it on their way back.

Alfred greets them immediately, gurney at the ready. He even prepared the straps. This, too, Jason knows to be for the best, but every lingering sense of compassion and basic human decency he owns rebels within every single cell in his body as he watches Bruce and Alfred strap Tim down, as if he were wretched criminal being sent away to die instead of just a lovely young man who got unlucky.

It gets even worse when Tim stirs from the light sedative Bruce gave him. For, then, he thrashes and screeches like a pig being sent out to the slaughter. He cries, pleads, looks at them all with terrified eyes that don’t even see them. All the while, he bleeds from how hard he strains against the straps, and they can’t even give him anymore sedatives lest it interfere with the antidote.

He looks pitiful like this. Jason has never known Tim to be particularly pitiable before.

He sincerely hopes he never will after this.

Selina disappears into the manor a few minutes in. Jason doesn’t blame her, but he wishes she would stay. Maybe Tim would recognize her.

(Why won’t Tim recognize Jason?)

Tim’s rubbing the pretty skin he takes so much pride in raw with his frenzied and futile attempts to free himself, so Alfred moves quickly. Within another ten minutes or so, Tim finally starts to settle down again as the antidote pumps through his veins.

His whispers and weak overtures continue, however. As soon as Alfred steps away, Jason barrels past Bruce to reach Tim’s side to finally, _finally_ touch him again without the image of Tim falling, hitting the ground with a woeful crack and so much fucking blood everywhere gilded across the back of his eyelids and inside each of his rapidly-firing synapses.

(He might kill Batman then.)

“Tim,” Jason whispers, brushing the back of his hand — the one not bleeding thick and hot — against Tim’s face. “Tim, you’re safe now.”

“Please,” Tim croaks. “Please don’t — “ He stops, stumbling over his words. He looks older now, aged and worn by the tear stains fire-branded against his cheeks and the tremble of his lips.

Jason thinks he might fucking lose it any moment, too. “It’s ok. You’ll be ok. I promise.”

Tim blinks, and some kind of clarity flashes in his eyes. He glances at Jason’s other hand briefly and frowns even harder. “I did that, didn’t I?”

“It’s fine. Just a scratch.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispers, and then he’s out.”

“I’ll go find Selina. Let her know Tim will be fine by tomorrow morning and see if she wants to see him,” Bruce says stiffly before awkwardly skulking away. In moments like these, Bruce looks like nothing more than a lumbering mass of a man, uncertain of himself and certainly not stealthy in the least. And, when Jason was younger, moments like these used to entertain him.

Entertain and reassure him; surely, if Batman, of all people, had moments like these, then Jason was doing fine as is, right?

Now, he finds it disgraceful and sardonic.

“Master Jason, why don’t you get some rest?” Alfred gently suggests. “Tonight was taxing for you all. As I’m sure you’re well-aware, your room is always open and ready for available.”

“No thanks. I think — I think I’d rather stay here tonight.”

“At least take a shower. I’m sure Timothy will appreciate waking up to you smelling fresh. Afterwards, I’ll make sure to attend to your hand.” He rests a firm but kind shoulder on Jason’s hand before not-so-kindly urging him off and away.

Reluctantly, Jason heads into the manor. He goes through great pains to avoid running into anyone else, and he takes the quickest shower possible. Then, he tiptoes into his old room for a change of clothes, and he dreads it the entire way there.

Nothing has really changed, he finds. As a child, he had never been interested in interior decorating, partly because he never believed he’d stay with Bruce long enough to warrant it. Regardless, the few posters he plastered on the walls, all of other superheroes in an attempt to tease Bruce, are still affixed firmly against the walls. Even the bed looks the same, and his old clothes also remains. Of course, he can’t fit into those anymore, so he rummages through the room for some time to find the new stuff Alfred stashed inside the drawers, but the fact that they’re still there nonetheless… is almost more than he can take.

“Jason.”

Jason turns and silently curses to himself for letting himself get caught off-guard. Bruce stands in the doorway of his room, expression flat.

“What? I’m not allowed to even use some of the clothes in here?” Jason asks.

Bruce shakes his head. “No. Of course you can. I just wanted to make sure… that you’re staying here tonight.”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Bruce frowns tightly. “I never said that. I’m just not used to you being in the manor.”

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Jason scoffs.

Bruce sighs, and his shoulders droop with it. Now, he also looks older.

Jason wonders what he himself must look like right now.

“Selina’s down with Tim right now, but I don’t know if she plans on staying with him through the night. So, if you want to go… keep him some company, you’re more than welcome to. Or you can also sleep here tonight,” Bruce says.

“I’ll go down to the cave. It’s too quiet here,” Jason says. He walks forward, but Bruce doesn’t budge just yet. Instead, he stares down at Jason in unreadable, aggravating silence before stepping aside. Jason walks away as quickly as he can, if only to get away from the feeling of Bruce’s eyes boring into his back.

 

* * *

 

 

Back in the cave, Selina sits by Tim’s side. The crease between her brows is new, but her expression softens a touch as soon as she spots him.

“Thanks for the help,” she says. “I wanted to go up after him, too, but then Scarecrow and the rest of those guys distracted me.”

“I know. Sorry for just leaving you to deal with them yourself.”

She shrugs. “That’s alright. They were easy.”

She currently occupies the only chair sat by Tim’s bed, so Jason resigns himself to standing beside her until she inevitably falls asleep there. Except, instead, she only spends a few more minutes stroking Tim’s hair before standing up with a weary sigh.

“Well, time for me to get some beauty sleep. You watch over him for me, yeah?” Her voice is light, but the way she stares Jason down speaks volumes.

A socialite thief’s expectations are always high, Jason’s discovered over the years. Selina Kyle’s is probably astronomical.

Regardless, he just nods and gives her the stiffest smile imaginable. “Yeah.”

They share a long, pointed look before she nods and saunters off. And, the moment she disappears from sight, Jason practically collapses into the chair, utterly exhausted and running on nothing more than quickly-fading adrenaline. Here, the scene looks so much worse; the IV’s and the beeping of the monitor burn his retinas something fierce with the cloying way they poke away at his anxieties. Yet, for some reason, he can’t bring himself to look away from Tim, still so pretty even now.

“Master Jason, I’m ready to tend to your hand now.” Alfred stands beside him, first aid kid in his hands. Too weak to even pretend to put up a fuss, Jason slowly raises his hand, and Alfred swiftly gets to it.

“It’s nice to see you back here, Master Jason,” Alfred says after disinfecting the cuts. They’ve finally stopped bleeding so freely, but a strong line of red still rubs off on the pads of rubbing alcohol.

“If we hadn’t had such shitty luck tonight, I would’ve never come here,” Jason mutters. Alfred’s already begun stitching him up, but he works so smoothly Jason hardly notices it.

“Regardless, it is a treat to see you again. I hope you will at least stay for breakfast. I’m planning on whipping up some of your favorites.”

Of course. Alfred would never let him off the hook that easily.

After that, they both know that Jason will stick around for a bit in the morning, so they share few more words beyond that. The only other thing Alfred says once he finishes is, “Make sure to avoid straining your neck too much while you watch over Timothy,” with a secretive, but pleased smile on his face.

Jason grimaces in response. “I’ll try,” he says before hastily adding, “Thanks, Alfred.”

Alfred’s smile turns kind. “My pleasure.”

Afterwards, Jason drifts off to sleep quickly, but not before Bruce skulks into the room, draping a plush down blanket over Jason’s shoulders.

And Jason wants to be upset about it. Wants to be annoyed, or even just slightly miffed because it’s such a small thing come a little too late, so what even is the point?

But he’s not. He’s not angry in the slightest.

(He might actually be grateful for it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is definitely getting away from me now LOL
> 
> i hope you guys are enjoying it tho!! please tell me what you think!
> 
> if you want to talk to me or want to know more about how you can support me or request a piece of writing, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)! i'm always happy to talk about whatever :)


	4. Chapter 4

Jason feels like death when he wakes up.

Slowly, he blinks his eyes open, groggy and assailed by a persistent knot spanning down the base of his neck all the way to his lower back. Even in the darkness of the cave, it takes him a few moments to adjust to the lights surrounding him, and he resents every moment he’s awake.

All that changes when he sees Tim staring down at him, adorned with a small smile as his hands rake methodically through Jason’s tangled hair.

“You’re awake,” Jason croaks.

“Yep. Looks like you are too,” Tim says lightly.

“How are you feeling?”

Tim shrugs, face painted with a tired smile. “I’ve been worse, I suppose. Though, I’ve also definitely been better.”

Jason sits up slowly, careful to avoid bearing too much weight down on the shins that lay dangerously close to the flat of his palms. “You feeling like the antidote’s worked?”

“I think so. At the very least, all the hallucinations have stopped, and that’s good enough for me,” Tim responds. “Though I’m not sure I’ve ever felt something so real before in my life.”

Jason bites his tongue — hard. He has plenty of questions now that he’s not turned stupid on fatigue and rapidly fading adrenaline. The words clot the tip of his tongue, filling his mouth with an acrid bitterness he yearns to be rid of, thick and dripping down his spine so heavy he just about keels over from the ungodly force they exert.

Because he wants to know. More than anything, he wants to know.

_“What did you see? What were you so afraid of? You were so scared you almost killed yourself just to get away from me, even though I swear I’ve never hurt you._

_So who hurt you?_

Hastily, Jason swallows them down back. He keeps them there, safely coiled up and melting away in his stomach.

He won’t ask. Not now.

Once, he had pried into Tim’s past — asked him a fairly innocuous question about his parents as a poor conversation starter into pillow talk after their first fuck in a proper bed. In turn, Tim responded with startling honesty that left Jason’s blood boiling.

After all, what’s the point of being rich if you don’t use all that money and influence to care for your kid properly? While Jason pondered such things, Tim went ahead and avoided Jason for three weeks afterwards. He hardly even looked at Jason, even when they were so close, buffeted together by the gales of Gotham, and Jason, surprisingly, had minded the silence quite a bit. According to Roy, he was even more of an insufferable asshole when Tim had been ignoring him. Jason even felt it, too, so he knew he couldn’t necessarily argue with that.

So, Jason is determined in his efforts to keep his own mouth shut this time.

Because he likes it when Tim looks at it. He likes it a lot.

“Good. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Jason eventually mutters, finger creeping traitorously towards Tim’s. “You seemed pretty out of it yesterday, to say the least.”

Tim’s gaze flickers, and Jason’s drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

“That fear toxin really does work, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s a bitch to deal with, but Scarecrow gets a real hoot out of watching people squirm. Thinks it’s fun.”

“You think he found my reaction fun to watch?” Tim asks lightly.

Jason turns to face Tim — properly this time, without the pretense of feigned aloof coolness to act as a buffer of mundanity. He’s not sure exactly what sort of expression he has so brazenly on display right now, but Tim softens in the face of it, and Jason’s nothing if not grateful for that.

“I don’t know,” Jason admits. “I just know that I — I was scared, seeing you like that.”

Tim tilts his head to the side. A few bangs cross over his face — thin, delicate, and oh-so soft. On impulse, Jason reaches over to brush a few strands aside. And, as if on impulse, Tim leans into the touch with hooded eyes and parted lips, ever the pampered kitten.

And Jason adores when Tim’s been pampered.

“Scared? I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you scared before,” Tim says.

“Really? I’m scared all the time,” Jason confesses on an exhale.

Tim’s eyes bear no judgement. That simple act has always set him apart from Bruce and the rest of them.

“I guess I’d be worried if you weren’t, considering what you do.”

“Every job has its occupational hazards,” Jason says offhandedly.

“To put lightly,” Tim scoffs. Nonetheless, he doesn’t draw away from Jason in the slightest. In fact, he just nestles up closer, lids falling heavy and breathing endearingly smooth.

“You should go back to sleep,” Jason says, voice barely more than a film of dust on the wind. “I know how tiring it can be, dealing with both the fear toxin and having it forcefully flushed from your system. I’ve been through it before, you know, back when I used to be around your size.”

Tim hums before snuffling his nose even deeper and more insistently against Jason’s palm. The tip of his nose feels terribly dry, but the give of his lips, plush and warm against Jason’s clammy skin, is as smooth and welcome as always. “I can’t imagine you as a scrawny thing like me.”

“You’re not scrawny. You’re just… small. But very lean. Not scrawny at all,” Jason counters immediately, much to Tim’s amusement. “Anyway, it’s not like I looked like this when I was fourteen.”

“Now that you mention it, I’d love to see some photos of you when you were younger. I bet you were real cute. The kinda guy all the girls in school had their first major crush on because he was just so dreamy with those dreamy blue eyes of his,” Tim says. His tone almost ventures on teasing, but the way his words drop of tiredly at the ends paints a much lovelier picture.

Though, Jason’s not sure he can necessarily say the same for the warm flush slowly creeping across Tim’s cheeks, up to the bridge of his dry nose and over his fluttering eyelashes.

“I don’t know about that,” Jason says. “Now, go to sleep. You’re barely hanging on as it is.”

“But I don’t wanna,” and that’s definitely the sound of a pout. Most of the time, Jason can’t say he particularly enjoys the sound of people whining about this or that. Except, when Tim does it, it’s oddly cute.

And if Roy could could read his thoughts right now, he’d laugh himself a hernia.

“What else do you plan on doing? It’s not like you can get out of bed yet. Alfred would never let you,” Jason says, all reasonable and rational. Very unlike himself, some would say.

Tim’s not one of those some.

“I just want to look at you a bit longer. It’s not every day I get to see you like this.”

“What do you mean?”

Tim blinks blearily instead of answering. Then, he yawns, and, with fatigue still resting cotton heavy in his mouth, he says, “You’re not usually this relaxed. But it’s nice, you know. Being able to see if like this.”

Jason barely even breathes, but the ensuing inhale feels woefully harsh. It rushes down his throat cold before settling in his stomach hot, and he breathes fire when he responds. “I could say the same for you.”

Tim’s eyes are a touched glazed over now, and his face has grown even redder than before. Like this, he looks as if he’s had a nice night out with plenty of free drinks from unsuspecting saps trying to weasel their way into a beautiful, drunken man’s bed. Jason can picture it quite clearly, actually; Tim’s figure is stark against the dim backdrop of a bar. High-class establishment or not, Tim stands out like a fucking beacon, every ounce gorgeous and untouchable. A display of luxurious rings onlookers can only gawk at and dream of in wild fantasies of grandeur and excess beyond their worldly grasp.

Nonetheless, some people still dare to approach him. A few saunter over, others amble by sheepishly, clearly aware of just how vast the gap they hope to bridge really is. But, Jason can’t blame them. Tim really does paint the most vivid picture when he looks like that.

Like someone’s who’s just been thoroughly and lovingly fucked into delirium.

Then, Tim blinks, and the illusion folds away as a modicum of sense returns to his eyes. Except not really because Jason’s still one of those fools trying to get his grubby fingerprints all over the gold and diamonds.

“What can I say?” Tim speaks casually. “Cats are notorious for being aloof.”

“I guess so. Now, are you gonna go to sleep or what?”

This time, Tim doesn’t argue with him. He’s too tired for that, and, as Alfred flits into the room, silent except for the light click of his dress shoes, Tim finally starts to settle down. Probably because he knows that Alfred has his own ways of making him sleep, like it or not.

Ultimately, Tim drifts off in a matter of minutes, leaving Jason there to hover of him in silence.

“I think he’s starting to run a fever,” Jason announces when Alfred steps up behind him. “He’s looking kinda red.”

“That he is,” Alfred says smoothly. He crosses the expanse of the cave in seconds before gingerly pressing the back of his hand against Tim’s forehead. “He feels a bit warm, too. I shall tend to him while you go and eat breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” Jason immediately says.

Alfred fixes him with a pointed look. His expression clearly states his unamusement, and every pore and wrinkle on his face screams irrefutable.

He has more wrinkles than Jason recalls. He recalls that, when he was still Robin, when he still looked up to Bruce — when he still thought that perhaps Bruce truly saved his life through sheer goodwill and a desire to do good for Gotham — Alfred looked much, much younger. The grays in his air existed even then, criss-crossing beside his temples and over his head, but they weren’t nearly as plentiful, and the wrinkles crowding around the corners of his eyes and mouth hadn’t been nearly as deep-set.

He’s grown, Jason thinks. Just like the rest of them. Except Jason thinks it’s a damn shame when it comes to Alfred. He thinks it’s a shame that _they_ did this to him.

But Alfred only smiles on, polite as ever, only diminished by the slight downturned crease at the edges of his mouth.

“I went ahead and prepared some of your favorites, Master Jason. It would greatly please me to see you eating some of it with the rest of the household,” Alfred says. His tone remains deferent throughout, but Jason knows what he means to imply.

And, even today, with grime and the old remnants of blood crowded beneath his shorn and cracked fingernails, exceptionally unlike his cute, clean Robin days, Jason finds he can’t argue against Alfred’s wishes.

So, he sighs and bows his head. A loss is a loss. Today, he won’t deny it.

“Alright. I’ll get a quick bite to eat before checking on Tim again. I’ll even try to make nice with everyone while I’m at it.”

Alfred grins, and his eyes light up with it. “Wonderful. I’ll make sure to keep a close eye on Timothy while you’re away, so there’s no need to rush. I hope you take your time eating. You’re not oft at the manor, after all.”

He gives Jason another look. This one sends Jason spiraling into a kind of guilt he would resent if it weren’t for Alfred. At the very least, he absolutely abhors it when Bruce gives him such imploring looks poorly hidden away by false bravado. With Alfred it’s not nearly as annoying, and from Dick it’s just a mix of completely laughable and slightly pitiable.

Same goes for the way Dick brightens upon seeing Jason awkwardly pad into the dining room; when he had first arrived to the manor as a permanent resident —

(— as Bruce Wayne’s ward and then his son when Jason fucked up majorly for the first time, when he couldn’t even save his own mom so what was the point anymore—)

— Jason didn’t understand the appeal of sitting to and eating a proper meal in a proper dining room as if he were a member of a proper family. To him, the whole affair seemed like nothing more than a waste of time for formality’s sake. A nuisance, but not terribly inconvenient, at the end of the day.

Now, however, he nearly bites his own tongue off to stop himself from saying something nasty or _regrettable_ , as Alfred would put it.

“Jason! I’m so glad you could make it to breakfast! Come sit over here.” Dick schooches his admittedly enviable ass over at the table, chair legs screeching across the floor as he goes. Damian tuts as Jason passes by him to the space beside Dick, and Bruce levels him with a cool, non-hostile gaze.

Jason sits. Then, he eats, and the meal passes by… tolerably well.

“How is Tim doing?” Bruce asks some minutes later. Damian finally loses some of his barbed-wire bravado at the mention of Tim, and Jason would laugh if he didn’t think doing so would be hypocritical.

“Fine, mostly. Starting to run a fever, but I’m sure Alfred will take care of that,” Jason responds. “By the way, where’s Selina?”

“She said she had a few things to take care of, but she assured me she’ll be back in a few hours. I’m sure she’s eager to see how Tim’s doing, so I doubt she’ll be gone for very long,” Bruce says.

“Of course she is. _She’s_ always been good to her little sidekick.”

Bruce doesn’t respond to that. He does flinch, though. The motion is just a wisp of a thing. The barest hint of recognition and reaction formed, but Jason sees it clearly. One of the many hidden talents associated with being the Robin to Batman included the ability to discern the difference between Bruce’s numerous yet similar expressions.

Thus, it’s clear to Jason that his words really do affect Bruce, in their own way; a lost, bereft look casts across Bruce’s eyes, like bloated clouds rolling over for the storm, before he hastily blinks it away into something only mildly overcast.

But Jason sees it anyway. He knows.

(Good. Bruce needs it. The humbling. The reminder. The shame.)

Otherwise, however, the rest of breakfast passes by in mostly comfortable silence. As usual, Dick prattles on about this and that before Damian and Bruce both leave the table with eerily similar grunts of dismissal, leaving Jason with a chatty Dick.

“You know, Damian’s just acting that way because he’s jealous,” Dick soothes once they’re out of earshot.

Jason snorts so hard he almost jettisons fresh hot coffee up his nose.

“As if he’s not always a brat.”

“He’s not! I promise. It just takes some time for him to warm up to people.”

“Yeah, preferably when those people aren’t chummy with his first real crush,” Jason says. “Like father like son, I guess. At least when it comes to their tastes.”

“But now B has Superman’s attention.”

“And soon enough Damian will have the Superbrat’s attention too.” Jason peels off the crust of a particularly fluffy croissant. “And you know it.”

“Well, coincidences do sometimes turn into something more,” Dick says.

“On that topic, I think I’m gonna go check on Tim again. See how he’s doing.” Jason stands up at that before moving away from the beautifully-spread table in long strides.

Dick follows close behind. Of course.

“You know, I wasn’t sure about your relationship with Tim at first,” Dick begins, unbidden and unnecessary. “I thought it’d just be another repeat of B’s and Selina’s failed on-and-off again thing they had going on back in the day. But worse just because you two are younger and more temperamental.”

Jason shoots Dick a glare over his shoulder. Dick continues on undeterred.

“But I think it’s actually been good for you. Being with him has softened you up a bit. Got you to open up more.”

“We’re not — We’re not together,” Jason stutters. It’s not exactly convincing, though, and Dick eyes him strangely in the following silence.

“No?”

“No,” Jason declares firmly. “No. We may… fool around sometimes, but it’s nothing that serious.”

And he means it. He really, truly means it, even if it settles poorly on his tongue.

A heavy frown settles quite nicely on Dick’s face. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for making assumptions, then,” Dick says slowly. “But, either way, I think he’s done you some good.”

Jason scoffs. Then, he turns away. He has to, or else he won’t be able to hide just how half-hearted he really sounds. “Well, maybe you’re right. Or maybe I just grew up a bit.”

“Maybe,” and, finally, they leave it at that.

When they reach the cave, the gang’s all together again, including Alfred and Tim. Bruce sits at one of his many consoles, pretending to not pay the rest of them any mind while actually listening in on every little thing they do. Typical Bruce. Damian, on the other hand, tries his damndest to hover over Tim while feigning cool nonchalance.

He doesn’t do well. Despite that, Tim never fails to smile at him with all the kindness he can muster, even with the sweat beading across his forehead.

“Is that for me?” Tim asks, tipping his chin up to gesture at the cup in Damian’s hand.

Silently, Damian nods. Poor kid can’t even speak.

“Thanks. You’re amazing,” Tim says. Still silent, Damian shuffles over and hands Tim the cup with the gentlest hands Jason has ever seen from the demon brat himself.

“See? I told you he had a soft side,” Dick whispers.

“I’d rather not know about it. It’s kinda creepy, to be honest,” Jason whispers back.

Dick wrinkles his nose in disagreement before he heads away to a different corner of the cave, giving Tim a brief hello as he goes. As Damian awkwardly slinks away, Jason readily takes his place — mostly to get a closer look at Tim, but also partly to see Damian squirm and give him that signature scowl Jason’s grown so accustomed to.

“Don’t tease him,” Tim admonishes in a hushed whisper, made even quieter by the faint rasp in his voice.

“ _I’m_ teasing him? How about you, fluttering your baby doll lashes at him?”

Tim rolls his eyes. “I’m just being nice. He’s in some of most formative years of his life, you know? It wouldn’t do him any good to be mean to him now. I think you should be nicer to him too.”

“I’ll think about it next time he tries to kill me in the middle of the street.”

“I guess it also took me some time to warm up to him after he almost slit _my_ throat open a couples years back,” Tim muses, “But I really do think he’s a pretty good kid, at heart.”

“Whatever you think, try to avoid getting his hopes up, alright? He’s already annoying enough as it is.”

“Please, I don’t make it a habit to go after children.”

Jason rolls his eyes before finally planting himself down into the chair by Tim’s bed. He figures he’s fulfilled his asshole-as-a-formality quota well enough for now, even if he can still feel Damian’s and Dick’s gazes burning acid-induced holes into his back.

“How’re you feeling?” Jason asks, voice soft and soothing. Damian would surely have a fit if you could hear Jason conversing with his crush like this, and Dick would have a field day. So, he keeps himself quiet even if he can’t tamp down the concern seeping through, hot and fast down frantic arms.

“Sweaty,” Tim replies simply. “Whatever Alfred gave me is already doing the trick and doing it well. I can already smell myself festering under all these blankets. For a cave, it’s surprisingly hot down here.” At that, Tim makes a great, bratty show of trying to kick off the layers of down Alfred has so lovingly piled on top of him. Except, before he can be free of any of them, Jason quickly pins them in place, glowering down at Tim.

“That’s the point. Gotta sweat the fever out, you know. So stay put.”

Tim pouts, nose scrunched and everything, and _now_ Jason can feel the eyes upon him.

He can’t stand them.

He can’t stand the way they all seem to cast judgement on him so easily, like it’s some God-given right of theirs. Like he’s just a dumb, little reject they refuse to completely cast away. Instead, they pretend to know what’s best for him, all while scorning him, dripping with disapproval and assumption.

Most of all, he can’t stand the way they almost seem to care. Because caring hurts.

It hurts to care about someone else.

But Tim’s a stubborn thing behind his honey-coated glances and warm, wet smiles, so Jason stays as he is — holding Tim down with a scowl and a refusal to be persuaded.

“Just give me a chance to breathe,” Tim argues.

“Your face is right there. I can see you breathing just fine,” Jason argues back.

Tim rolls his eyes, and the sweat beads harsher. He’s less flushed, but he’s warm, even past the sheets, so intense it seeps up through Jason’s palm until he radiates Tim.

And that’s scary. But he doesn’t move.

“Who knew you were such a mother hen?”

“I’d just rather not have to deal with you whining at me these next few days because you didn’t like letting yourself rest properly. I’m sure you’d like nothing more than to get out of here now that the IV’s out.”

“But most guys love it when I whine,” Tim offers slyly. He doesn’t even respond to the implication of an escape attempt, but Jason knows him too well to know to he fooled. Ever the restless bastards are the rich, he’s discovered over the years. So, Jason still doesn’t budge. “Not to mention, you’ll also get sick if you stick this close to me.”

“Not likely. The Pit’s made it hard for that,” Jason says, a little too wistful for his liking. But the words are out of his mouth already, and he’s never been one to take them back. Thankfully, no one comments, and Jason’s gotten good at counting the tiny blessings. He hardly gets any other kinds, after all.

“And now he won’t have to keep such a vigilant watch over you.”

Jason turns. There, behind him, he spots Selina sauntering into the cave. She’s nicely done-up and closed-off again, so different from last now. For now she looks like the perfect socialite once more, sans the glass of champagne in her hands.

If Tim’s good at the game then Selina’s beyond perfect at it. Once again, Jason drops another putrid penny into his blessings jar; if Tim were any better than he already is, Jason’s not sure where he’d be right now. A slave to Tim’s whims or a pitiful, cast-off man crying alone in a bar both sound strikingly apt, but the idea presents itself as too taxing to think about now.

(And he’d like to think Tim likes him enough to keep him from such a fate. Maybe.

Who knows?)

From the corner of his eye, Jason sees Tim craning his neck to watch Selina past Jason’s hulking frame. As usual, Tim’s expression betrays little. Except, the little he does let slip reveals galaxies of admiration and supernovas of affection, all swirled together within a vast expanse of stunning blues and purples coated in diamonds and stardust. They expand as Selina approaches, like children vibrating with joy upon seeing the return of a beloved parent, and Jason wishes he could see more of it. Just a little would be enough, the thinks.

Except Tim doesn’t look at Jason that way. Never has. Unsurprisingly, but somehow Jason —

Jason snaps himself out of his reverie to slowly extricate himself from bearing down upon Tim like an over-excited dog in order to make room for Selina. She smiles at him with more than a hint of amusement before passing by.

“You look passably well. I trust everyone here has been taking good care of you?” she asks Tim.

Tim huffs in response. “They’re trying to drown me in a pool of my own sweat.”

“Well, a good sweat session works wonders for a fever,” Selina replies banaly, and Tim’s lost once and for all with that.

Tim sighs, and his damp hair flutters. Even drenched in sweat, Tim looks good. Jason finally draws away while inundated with that thought, only to meet Selina’s mirthful gaze.

“Thanks for all your help. I hope he doesn’t get you sick, too.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Jason spares Tim one last glance, but Tim’s already starting to fade again. Now that the sweat’s kicked in, the following fatigue is only inevitable, especially now that Selina’s here, just barely sinking her nails into Tim’s hair to soothe him to sleep. After another few hours, Alfred and Bruce will likely give Tim the coveted OK to leave, and then Tim will be off again, flying through the skies and wreaking havoc on lonely men on rooftops. Like always.

Because it’s a simple thing. Mundane. Meaningless.

So, Jason leaves. He says nothing before turning, but the way his heels strike the smooth stone floors gives him away.

Sardonic. Sour. So fucking loud.

Bruce meets him at the entrance, and he doesn’t budge when Jason snarls at him.

“You know, you’re always welcome here,” Bruce says, as if it’s so fucking obvious.

Jason bares his teeth until his gums show. “Oh yeah? Nice way of showing it. I’m starting to think you should’ve never let me in here in the first place.”

Bruce’s eyes cast downwards. Like this, he looks so weak — like a regular man with too many wrinkles for his age and too many scars for his supposed cushy lifestyle. He looks disgustingly pitiful, and Jason would hurl if he didn’t feel like he might cry.

“Maybe you’re right,” Bruce whispers. He speaks so quietly that Jason hardly hears it, but of course he does. Because Bruce didn’t try hard enough. He didn’t try hard enough to keep quiet, and he didn’t try hard enough to save him.

Jason shoulders his way out of the cave like a man hellbent, filled with righteous fury and, strangely enough, desire for something he can’t explain.

No one stops him.

He’s grateful for that, he tells himself.

(But why don’t they try harder for him?)

 

* * *

 

He truly believed being dipped in the Pit had made it impossible for him to get sick ever again, that the forces that be and the act of resurrection purged one’s body of such aches and pains indefinitely. The thought makes sense, after all, and he can’t recall a time when Ra’s had ceased his incessant plotting to destroy humanity for the sake of the greater calling or whatever because of a cold.

Apparently, Jason had been wrong.

“As if Ra’s would go around letting everyone know when he was sick. He’s way too smart for that, and you know it,” Tim says, clicking his tongue.

“I figured someone in the League would at least gossip about it every once in awhile. I mean, I’m sure Ra’s is annoying as hell when he’s sick,” Jason rasps.

“Unfortunately, I get the sneaking suspicions that Ra’s is too old-fashioned to hire gossips.”

“What a damn sha —“ Jason’s one hacking cough interrupts him, and he nearly convulses in Tim’s lap from how hard his chest rattles.

In such a harrowing situation — including strep throat and a 102 degree fever — one would expect his self-appointed caretaker to be extraordinarily nice. Fawning, in fact. Tripping over themselves to help dull the pain. Jason’s mother had never been the best parent, but even she had been great to him whenever he fell sick.

(Those are some of his best memories. The thought makes him both sentimental and sad.)

Tim, on the other hand, simply clicks his tongue again before pushing his face mask further up against his nose.

“Can you not cough in my direction like that?” Tim gripes.

“Sorry. I’m finding it hard to control these things,” Jason deadpans.

Tim wrinkles his nose in response, based on the way the bridge of his nose creases. Regardless, once Jason’s coughing fit finally passes, he carefully tips a steady stream of cool water down Jason’s throat, cool hand flitting here and there all over Jason’s scalp.

“At least you finally got some antibiotics in. I can’t believe you were about to just lay here and try to _sweat out_ something like this on your own.”

Jason coughs up another lung and a half before responding, much to Tim’s chagrin. “It would’ve been fine.”

“Yeah, after almost dying from dehydration. The color of your urine is absolutely abysmal.”

“I’d rather not talk about my sickly urine right now. I’m feeling bad enough as it is.”

Tim smirks, bringing a bowl of piping hot soup up to Jason’s eyes. “Then you better start drinking.”

“But it hurts,” Jason gripes, but he’s not complaining or anything. Of course not. The very notion exudes ridiculous, and it’s not like he hasn’t been through far worse before.

Except, the needle-sharp pain in his throat only intensifies when Tim presses the warm spoon against his lips.

“Come on. You need it. I would very much prefer to not find you passed out on the floor of your apartment again,” Tim coos. “What would you have done if someone else had gotten in?”

“They couldn’t have. Only you and Roy have access,” Jason admits, even though it was supposed to be a secret forever and ever because the truth is woefully embarrassing, and Jason’s nothing if not a coward.

Tim blinks twice before bringing the spoon up to his own mouth to blow some of the wafting steam away. Shakily, he lowers the spoon back down. A few hot drops sprinkle Jason’s collar bone along the way.

“Sorry about that,” Tim murmurs. “But please eat some. For me?”

If he could, Jason would say. As it stands, even craning his neck upwards to lazily sip at some soup hurts more than it rightfully should.

But he does it anyway, and he soaks up Tim’s relieved smile like a starved animal.

“Is it good?” Tim asks.

Jason takes another clumsy sips. “Of course it is. Alfred made this, after all.”

“Yeah. I mentioned it, and he got Dick to deliver some while you were asleep earlier.”

Jason snorts, he coughs, and then he regrets ever opening his big mouth in the first place because the soup hasn’t calmed the searing pain in his throat in the slightest.

“Great. Now Dick knows where my favorite safehouse is,” Jason eventually rasps.

Tim quickly shuts him up with another hefty spoonful of soup. “And he was really happy about it too. He’s been dying to see you outside of the cave you know. He says you’re always so grumpy there, and I believe it.”

“You talk shit about me with Grayson a lot?”

“Only sometimes. Give me another few more weeks and a few more coincidental run-in’s and maybe we’ll finally start having coffee over it.”

Jason almost chuckles, but Tim’s shoving more soup at him before he can even make a valiant attempt. Afterwards, the bowl goes down quickly, and Jason can already feel the meds kicking in; heavy are his eyelids as his body thrums with a scarily enticing drug-induced weariness.

Even nicer, however, is the feeling of Tim pressed up against his side, gentle but ever-present. So nice, so unfamiliar.

From within a doped up haze, Jason sailed up closer to Tim in an act unlike himself and beyond his volition. Silently — easily — Tim accepts him with nothing more than a smooth rake of his fingernails over and down Jason’s scalp, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure and all the tooth Jason so desperately wants.

“Will you drink a bit more water before you fall asleep?” Tim whispers. He’s bent over Jason’s figure now. So close. So lovely with his face framed by loose strands of lamb soft hair. Absentmindedly, Jason reaches up to tuck a piece behind Tim’s ear.

Imperceptibly, Tim leans into it.

“I already drank all that soup,” Jason argues feebly.

“You need all the fluids you can get. It’s just a glass.” Tim pauses. Then, he delivers the final blow. Again and again and again. “Please? For me?”

So easily. So unfair. Because Jason cannot look away from those devilishly bright eyes, and he cannot possible in his life turn down such a lovely request.

The fever must be getting to him something fierce. For the room spins, and he pirouettes with it, but Tim remains ever vigilant over him, and Jason, for once, does not want to be alone.

So he acquiesces without another word. He moves to crane his neck upwards again, only to be stopped by a warm hand on his chest — long, skinny fingers splayed and pretty.

“Don’t move. I got this.”

Tim speaks firmly, so Jason settles back down easily. With his other lovely fingers, Tim tips Jason’s head up ever-so-slightly before retracting to his other hand for each for the water. After that, Jason can’t seem to keep his eyes open. But that’s fine. Even the simple feeling of Tim’s cool hands on his face is everything.

And so, so nice.

 

* * *

 

Jason wakes up feeling like shit. Again.

Except this time he’s the one laying in bed while Tim busies himself in the corner with his cell phone.

“You still here?” Jason croaks.

Tim hastily looks up before striding over to Jason’s side in seconds. “Of course I am. I’m not about to leave my patient before he fully recovers.”

“If you’re trying to start some kinda role play here, you’re not doing a very good job. You don’t even have a sexy nurse costume on.”

Tim barks out a sharp laugh before hopping onto the bed, straddling Jason with a devious smile. “We have a lax dress code here.”

“You sure you wanna get that close? Weren’t you sporting a fresh new face mask just a few hours ago?” Jason asks.

Tim just shrugs. “Well, I will admit that it’s a bit disappointing not being able to kiss you, but there are still plenty of other things I can do.”

Namely, suck Jason’s dick. Apparently.

Tim doesn’t even say anything before burrowing under the thick layer of blankets upon blankets he evidently tucked Jason into earlier. How he was able to haul Jason’s bulk through the apartment without waking him up is beyond Jason, but he finds he doesn’t really care anymore upon feeling Tim’s nice, cool hands pulling away at the drawstring waistband of Jason’s sweatpants.

“This ok?” Tim asks.

“Yes. Always ok. Better than ok, actually,” Jason replies eagerly. Too eager, probably, but Tim takes it with an easy chuckle.

Then, he takes Jason’s dick into his mouth with an ease that Jason will most likely never get over.

Because Tim is good at this. So fucking good. Always has been, always will. He knows exactly which points to press down on and which ones to ease away from, all while hollowing his cheeks like a dead man walking.

His hands also don’t let up a single iota. Those sinful little fingers of his feel like they roam everywhere — up, down, and around the base of his shaft to the sensitive tip of his cock whenever Tim draws away to give the slit a chaste little kiss, then over to fondle at Jason’s balls as if they were a beloved, prize-winning show kitten.

Actually, that comparison’s a bit weird. He takes it back. Thankfully, Tim makes it impressively easy to forget such things the further he sinks his mouth down over Jason’s cock.

And, not to stroke his own ego — because Tim’s doing that well enough on his own — but Jason is well aware of how well-endowed he is. Such a revelation comes fairly quickly when one spends a good chunk of their life around men in tight costumes, cup or not. Of course, he’s seen bigger, and he wonders how Bruce even handles the big, bad, big dick Supes, but, even so, he manages to stretch of Tim’s mouth just as he is, and… Well, if he weren’t already sporting a raging hard-on, the mere sight of Tim’s cheeks stretched full and stuffed with _Jason_ would be more than enough to get him completely stiff from nothing.

“Don’t —” Jason rasps weakly, “Don’t force yourself.”

Tim doesn’t even deign to give a proper response to that. He just flicks his gaze up to where Jason’s hand has, suddenly, buried itself into Tim’s fluffy hair.

Perhaps that’s enough of an answer in itself.

As such, Jason decides that he’s gonna go ahead and refuse to feel bad as he thrusts his hips up sharply, burying himself even further within Tim’s wickedly wonderful mouth. To his credit, Tim barely even flinches. Instead, he, in turn, dips his head down further until he’s deep-throating Jason with all the grace he shouldn’t possibly possess in such a situation.

Though, Jason supposes Tim’s always enjoyed defying such prosaic expectations.

Jason lasts a predictably short amount of time, in the end. Some haughty part of himself would love to blame his lack of endurance on his illness and the antibiotics wearing him down, but, honestly, they both know that he simply cannot win against Tim’s excellent cock-sucking skills. So, Jason doesn’t even mind coming down Tim’s throat mere minutes later with his head thrown back and a painful groan ripping its way up his own abused throat.

Because Tim has always been good. Damnably amazing, actually.

So much so it takes Jason another few minutes to recover. When he finally returns to his senses, Tim looks utterly unfazed.

“You feeling better now?” Tim asks.

“I’m exhausted, actually.”

“Good. Get some more sleep after this next meal. It’s also time for your next dose of antibiotics.”

“I never knew you were such a vigilant nurse. And what great bedside manner you have, too,” Jason intones flatly.

Tim only laughs at that. The sound echoes through the halls gently like an old-time lullaby before Tim returns with water and soup in hand.

“If this Stray business didn’t work out, I would’ve made a great nurse, don’tcha think?” Tim asks.

“I’m not sure nurse is the right word.”

But Jason will admit that Tim certainly has a way with convincing stubborn, sick people into gulping down an almost laughable amount of fluids despite the horrible pain in their throats. Skills like that are to be admired.

“And yet you’re getting better by the second,” Tim teases. “Now, it’s time for you to rest up.”

Jason wants to argue. He wants to be contrary, raising up a steadfast fuss because he’s a grown man, and strep throat is nothing when the streets of Gotham are so thoroughly infected.

And Batman won’t stop them. Certainly not — never will when he values the lives of sick criminals so highly compared to those of innocent people. Jason, at least, has his priorities straight.

Nonetheless, he struggles to devise a convincing argument using all those points in the face of Tim legitimately tucking him into bed with a proper, bedside-worthy smile.

“Don’t think so much. You always get that nasty forehead wrinkle in your forehead when you think about things beyond your control,” Tim breathes. The back of his knuckles brush against Jason’s chin as he hikes the blanket up. They’re rough and peeling, Jason lazily notices. When did Tim’s pretty hands ever go so roughed-up?

(By who? Jason’ll tear them apart until the hurt stops stinging so bad.)

“Sorry for being ugly when I think,” Jason mutters.

“That’s not what I said, and you know it.”

Yeah. Jason knows it. He knows that, but he doesn’t know anything at all about Tim, at the end of the day. The thought hurts.

The truth stings.

Still, the sight of Tim settling down beside Jason makes him feel far, far better than it should.

(So good it’s scary.)

“You really just gonna stay here and watch me sleep?” Jason asks. His words slur together clumsily, but Tim understands him clearly regardless.

“I already told you I’m not the type to leave my patient alone while they’re still sick. Besides, you look nice when you’re asleep.”

“Yeah? And how do I look?”

The edges of Tim’s mouth twitch upwards, but something about the look in his eyes makes him look sad.

Jason hates when Tim looks sad.

“You look peaceful,” Tim whispers. He leans down as he speaks, wiping away some of the sweat accumulating atop Jason’s forehead, and the way his breath swirls over Jason’s skin feels like absolution. “Like you’ve never been hurt before.”

Jason scoffs so hard he almost dies again right then and there. “I wish.”

Tim runs his thumb across Jason’s brows and, with the faintest of breaths, says, “Me too.”

Jason hears anything beyond that. Abruptly, as if he had never been awake to begin with, he falls asleep once more. There, he dreams of Bruce and Tim and the rest of them together, always.

And he might even say it’s a happy dream.


	5. Chapter 5

True to his word, Tim stays by Jason’s side for the next two days, driven by an undue diligence. Though, by the first morning rolls around, Jason’s already well enough to take care of his own basic needs. He tells Tim this.

Tim refuses to budge.

Jason argues up a storm with him about it, demanding Tim just leave and give Jason some peace and quiet. To stop making Jason question whether or not having someone else’s footsteps echo through his apartment might actually be nicer than he ever believed possible.

Tim just argues back, and he’s kinda mean about it.

A debater. Jason reasons that Tim is an excellent debater. He wouldn’t be surprised if Tim had been the star member of the debate team back in his high school hay days. Jason imagines it might be difficult to win against someone who manages to look that good as he berates people on taking better care of themselves.

“Don’t be so stubborn,” Tim sighs. “It’s fine to let people help you every once in awhile. We care about you.”

No. Not just hard.

Impossible.

Because Jason finds it impossible to put up an honest fight when Tim hovers over him with a bowl of Alfred’s homemade minestrone soup in hand, dressed in an apron that’s most certainly not Jason’s.

“Where did you get that thing?” Jason asks, gesturing at the baby pink apron Tim wears. In a hot, obnoxious pink print, it reads “Baby Girl,” and while Jason can’t say he hates the impression it leaves — and how enticing Tim looks in it — he also can’t say he’s entirely impressed. “I know you like to play up the whole seductive sex kitten act out on the field, but this doesn’t seem like something you’d buy yourself.”

“It was a gift. From a suitor,” Tim explains.

“I’m surprised you even accepted it.”

“Well, I figured there’d be someone I could use it on, even if it wasn’t him. Don’t you like it?”

“It’s tacky and hurts my eyes,” Jason deadpans.

“Yeah, but isn’t that exactly why you like it?” Tim asks cheekily.

“I guess it’s not all bad.”

Tim grins. He readily resumes his part as pretty caretaker for the rest of the day, seemingly pleased by the whole situation, before slipping away that evening after imparting onto Jason heaps of heaps of careful instructions — all of which ultimately end in, ‘Call me if you need anything, alright?’

“I’m not a child,” Jason grumbles as Tim lingers behind for the upteenth time. “I don’t need you to babysit me. I can handle the common cold.”

“Yeah, but if someone’s willing to baby you a little, isn’t it nice to take advantage of that?”

“I don’t take advantage of people,” Jason argues sullenly.

Tim smiles again, softer and smooth. “I know. You never have, huh?”

Before Jason can give a proper response, Tim finally makes up his mind to leave. His internal outside or inside debate has, apparently, been settled once and for all, and not a moment too late; quite frankly, Jason was starting to get a bit tired of keeping the door open for him.

(That’s a lie.)

Furthermore, Jason must admit later that night, as he stews in his own sweat and scraped throat, that being babied might not really be all that bad.

(Or maybe he just like having Tim around like this. In his house.

In his life.)

 

* * *

 

 

That night, he dreams of a memory.

As a child, Jason rarely got sick. Something about living off of stale, mostly expired food from the discount section of already-discounted stores probably helped him develop a hardy immune system. Still, he was only human — still is, even after being thrown into the Pit and forcefully brought back to life. Even he falls victim to things like bacteria and viruses sometimes.

One of his worst bouts had been during his brief tenure as Robin. Alfred claimed that the sudden flood of physical and emotional stress from the job likely compromised his immune system, thus making him more likely to contract disease. He said so in the past, and he says it again now, within the vestiges of Jason’s dream. In fact, the words come out exactly the same, spoken in that exact, same graceful baritone Alfred has perfected over the years.

“It’s nothing you should be ashamed of, Master Jason,” Alfred soothes as he hands Jason the fluffiest down blanket in the entire manor. “We all get sick from time to time. Why, even the illustrious Batman comes down with something on occasion.”

“But _he_ doesn’t get benched and treated like a baby when it happens to him,” Jason argues. He likes to think he sounds convincing, but the rasp in his voice betrays him.

“Alfred likes to baby us all when he can.”

Bruce.

Or, Batman, actually, because he’s already dressed in his outfit. The only part of him that’s still Bruce is his face. With his cowl down like this, sometimes even Jason forgets. He forgets that they’re one in the same because Batman, as terrifying and cold he may act, still cares; he cares deeply and fully for all of Gotham, even the creepy crawlies and the big, awful bad.

Bruce, on the other hand, sometimes plays aloof far too well.

“Besides, you’ve been working hard lately. I think you deserve a break,” Batman continues.

“But I don’t want to take a break. I want to be out there, helping.”

“You won’t be much help when you’re sick like this. In fact, you’ll probably do more harm than good,” and _that’s_ Bruce speaking now — unintentionally aloof and harsh. Awkward but means well. Slow to warm up, like a shy baby.

Hard for Jason to handle, sometimes.

So, Jason just huffs as he watches Bruce become Batman again, much to Alfred’s mirthful chagrin. Slowly, Jason resigns himself to a night of old re-runs that numb his mind even more than the meds Alfred gave him.

But, then, Bruce comes back, and he comes as the Bruce Jason can actually deal with. He comes bearing popcorn before plopping himself down beside Jason, and Jason forgets. He forgets about the images on the TV screen, he forgets about the crooks on the street they could be stopping. He forgets about the people he’s inadvertently hurt by being sick and guilting Batman into comforting him, and he forgets that both Batman and Bruce belong to so, so many more people than just Jason.

He even forgets about how ridiculous he must look, dripping mucus all over his Robin outfit that he insisted on wearing.

And he almost forgets how Bruce and Batman both left him to die.

_Almost._

“I’m sorry,” dream Bruce/Batman says. He sometimes says it in real life, too, but he sounds nicer in Jason’s dreams.

“I know,” dream Jason admits. He, too, is nicer in his dreams. More understanding. Mature. The kind of man Tim _really_ likes, probably.

They reconcile, somehow, all five of them — Bruce and Batman and Jason and Red Hood and Robin. They make it work, genuinely and truly, but Jason can’t scrounge up the details because the dream’s already beginning the fade.

It fades fast, but he wakes up slowly. The force of opening his eyes hits him harder than the weight of a warehouse crashing down on him, but he manages. Evidently, his fever broke sometime that night, but he feels even worse than before.

_I’m sorry._

“I know,” Jason whispers aloud. He can say it, here, alone, but it’s still so fucking hard.

Life, he thinks, is hard.

The screen of his phone lights up. He takes a quick glance, only to see Dick’s name flash across the screen.

It’s fine. He leaves it.

“Call me if you need anything, alright?”

And, for a brief second, Jason thinks about it. He wonders if, perhaps, he should go ahead and call Tim. Except, for what? To reminisce about his glory days as Robin? To bitch about how he knows Bruce is sorry, but sorry’s just not good enough right now? About how he keeps asking for something Bruce just can’t give him?

His fever’s gone. He’s well on his way to a full recovery. He doesn’t need Tim. Not now.

So, Jason leaves it.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

_I’m sorry._

 

* * *

 

 

“Hood. It’s nice to see you out and about on the streets again. I was starting to worry that you were sicker than I originally thought.”

Jason looks up. Above him, Tim rests precariously on one of the many outdated gargoyles still littering the older buildings of Gotham. He gives Jason a tiny wave before Jason beckons him down. Gently, Tim leaps, and he makes falling look unbearably stunning.

“Well, I did have some amazing company to help nurse me back to health,” Jason says.

“Yeah, that apron really does work wonders, huh? And you had the gall to make fun of such a magical piece of protective wear.”

Jason huffs out a laugh against his volition. “Yeah, yeah. Color me wrong, or whatever.”

“But really, it’s good to see you again. You didn’t update me all after I left, so I was starting to get a bit worried.”

“Yeah, but you know how busy things get around here. Besides, did you really think something like that would get the best of me?” Jason breezes easily.

“I guess you’re right on both accounts. Tonight’s pretty nice, though. You up for a bit of a moonlit date?” Tim asks, all fluttering lashes and coy grins that show off the most alluring hint of canines Jason has ever born witness to. He makes no effort to hide the implication behind his words, but Jason notes the faintest hint of nervousness somewhere down there.

Tim’s good, but he’s slipping.

Jason frowns in response. “Hey, what’s wrong? If you’re nervous about propositioning me, then you don’t need to ask in the first place. I won’t be offended just because you don’t offer me rooftop sex each time we meet up.”

Tim blinks. Then, he gawks, and, to be honest, Jason kinda likes being the one with the upper hand held so neatly in his grubby, calloused hands, ever the greedy man he knows himself to be.

Nonetheless, Tim recovers quickly enough. He smiles up at Jason with those big ole’ eyes of him, and even more teeth glint prettily beneath the starlight. “I’m not nervous about having sex with you. I would never be. You’re always good.”

Tim cocks his eyebrows up suggestively at that. Jason can only scoff to hide his pleasure.

“I was just worried I might be getting in your way. I’m sure the work of a vigilante is never truly over,” Tim continues coolly. His posture settles into something wholly serene, and Jason does enjoy to see Tim so relaxed.

This time, Jason blinks. He tries to blink away the desire. He likes to think himself a professional, after all.

All the while, Tim watches him curiously — waiting.

Finally, Jason folds. Predictable. “You said it yourself. Tonight’s a good night. Or, as good as Gotham’s gonna get. Let’s have some fun.”

Tim wastes no time half-divesting himself of his catsuit. Of course, he doesn’t completely undress; leaving himself so vulnerable in a place like Gotham would be akin to suicide of the highest degree, but he’s altered his suit enough so he can easily get his delicious little ass out without being completely butt-naked.

For Jason the matter’s much simpler. After a quick flick of his wrist, his pants are off, and — even if he secretly considers the lack of warm, wicked body contact all over him a damn shame — he still finds his slick fingers opening Tim up within minutes, courtesy of the lube Tim carries around. It’s the warming stuff, too. Perfect for a nearly chilly Gotham night, Jason thinks.

Clearly, Tim’s of the same mind if the whimpering keens he lets out serve as any indication.

“God, Hood,” Tim moans, pressing himself closer, “you’re good. You’re always good.”

“You already said that,” Jason hums breathlessly.

“Yes, well, no harm in offering a bit of honest praise, is there?”

“I guess not.” Jason adds another finger, and Tim twitches deliciously under his touch. “And, I must say, you look positively  _ravishing_ today.” He makes sure to roll the R in the most audacious way possible for the show, and Tim’s resulting laughter makes him tighten up even more.

“Alright, alright, enough cheesy rom-com talk. Let’s get a move on before the weekly jailbreak from Arkham happens again,” Tim says.

And who is Jason to refuse such a sanguine request?

(Weak and wanting. That’s who he is.)

So, he fingers Tim nice and fast, scissoring his fingers open until he can feel Tim rutting against him. It can’t be the most comfortable position, on account of the faded leather jacket Jason dons, decorated with plenty of rough zipper chains. Tim carries on despite that, undaunted by the press of cold metal into his lower abdomen.

Admittedly, all of that turns Jason on like nothing else. Within a few measly minutes, Jason’s hastily pulling his fingers out of his ass so he can instead use them to fumble with the wrapper of one of Tim’s condoms. The effort proves to be futile, courtesy of Jason’s generously lubricated fingers. Silently, Tim leans over to rip open the packet for him before rolling the condom on tortuously slow. His fingers linger on every sensitive spot of Jason’s dick, still trussed up in leather but so warm and smooth in spite of it.

Because Tim’s good. As if he knows every single nerve of Jason’s on an intimate level, he teases something fierce through the simple act of putting on a condom.

And Jason falls for it. He falls hard. Just another one of Tim’s victims, even though Tim and Stray, contrary to popular belief, tends to only play the part of seductive baddie; rarely does he deliver on such candied promises, to the disappointment of several heroes and villains alike.

Jason, apparently, is an exception.

As soon as Tim _finally_ gets the condom on, with a big, wet kiss at the tip for good measure, he wastes no time in lining himself up with Jason’s dick, and Jason… Well, he can hardly argue against such a fantastic, breathtaking scene, now can he?

The small strip of abdominal muscles that Jason spots through Tim’s half-draped suit flex precariously as Tim lowers himself down. He takes Jason in slowly. Carefully. He moves like he has a plan.

He probably does. From what Jason can tell, Tim almost always has some kind of plan. Today’s plan must entail driving Jason absolutely mad because Tim teases the whole fucking time. During their past few encounters, Tim’s been plenty eager and raring to go once they get started. Rough fucks with someone as lovely as Tim always leave Jason beyond satisfied and wanting for more.

Though, the lazy roll of Tim’s hips, combined with the shallow bob of Tim’s ass has Jason feeling embarrassingly needy. Every time Jason breaches Tim’s tight little hole, Tim pulls away again until Jason just barely rests inside of him, only to repeat the whole, devious process over and over again. It feels good, for sure, but Jason wants more.

In the end, he gives Tim a few more minutes of the song and dance before he winds his fingers firmly around Tim’s hips.

“Enough,” Jason growls. He tightens his grip until his blunt, unshorn fingernails leave jagged marks. “Or did you really just want the tip today?”

“You know I want it all. No one gives it to me quite as good as you do,” Tim purrs. He’s gone back to pressing himself impossible tight against Jason, and Jason reasons that the tightness bearing down on his chest must be because of that and not anything else.

No. Of course not. That’s silly, and Jason is anything but silly.

(A ridiculous, unlikable asshole, maybe, but not silly. Not anymore.)

Either way, Tim finally decides to take mercy on Jason. Like the saccharine sweet thing he is, he pulses his hips downwards in a flash, taking Jason in completely with nary a warning, and _oh_.

Jason swears on his own empty grave that he could never forget what it feels like to be inside Tim. How could he, when having his cock buried inside Tim feels like every single one of his idealistic and whimsical childhood dreams realized through the slim, pretty form of a man with the most dangerous smile and even holier eyes? Over the years, Jason has come to the stark realization that few things in life are truly impossible, but he’d consider this one of them.

Except, he inexplicably feels as if he’s never experienced anything as wonderful as the feeling of Tim hot and wet around him, contracting with each push and pull Tim makes. He bounces like a damn porn star, but he looks better than any of them ever could. In fact, if Tim were to ever delve into the adult entertainment industry, he’d surely come out as number one — the number one most viewed, most requested, most sought-after, most famous, most everything.

(But Jason doesn’t want to share. He doesn’t want anyone else to witness the glory that is Tim in the throes of passion, head thrown back and mouth wide in a silent gasp. Like that, Tim gets so red, from his collar bones up to the tip of his nose, and Jason loves to take advantage of it. If he pressed hard enough, the pads of his fingers leave behind harsh white patterns. Not to mention, if he bites hard enough, the fire red indents he imparts last for hours.

And Jason loves that, loves leaving marks. He loves it when Tim walks away with his marks.

He should probably stop.

He won’t.)

At the very least, Tim rarely has any major qualms with what Jason does to him when they sleep together. For example, today he makes no indication that he’s at all displeased with the way Jason latches himself onto his neck.

So, Jason takes it and runs; he bites down gently before scraping his teeth down with a vengeance, and only then does Tim’s hips falter.

“Hood,” Tim groans, resting his head against Jason’s shoulder.

Tim’s hair smells like salon-quality shampoo, leather, and remnants of oil. It’s a strange combination, but Jason can’t get enough of it.

“Nice to see you’ve finally decided to take the initiative,” Jason murmurs into Tim’s hair.

Tim snorts beneath him in-between his breathy gasps. “Yeah right. If there’s anyone between us who needs to take some initiative, I’d say it’s you.”

Jason pretends to ponder Tim’s words for a few seconds. Then, he says, “I guess you’re right,” and, with a well-placed arm and legs braced, he flips them in a single deft swoop until he’s looming Tim. “This better?”

Tim blinks up at him owlishly instead of responding. With his hair swept aside and eyes wide like that, Tim looks positively adorable. It takes everything in Jason to stop himself from just scooping Tim up to hide him away in his nearest safe house for a more private, comfortable ravishing.

Though, the fact that his dick’s currently in Tim’s ass already proves to be an excellent counterargument.

Eventually, Tim responds. “Well, I must admit, I quite like this view.” He wraps his legs around Jason’s waist, and he’s warm. Deliciously warm, even through the tight kevlar, and that’s all Jason can ask for right now.

(Because asking for more is dangerous. He probably doesn’t have the right to want more, anyway.)

“Me too,” Jason says instead, and he means it.

After that, the rest of their rooftop romp passes by fairly quickly. When it comes to Tim, Jason can never hold out for too long, no matter how much he wishes he could. Something — or everything, really — about the way Tim clings to him while moaning such sweet words of encouragement and adulation just hits Jason in every way possible.

Thankfully, Tim also seems to being feeling it.

“ _Shit_ , Hood, you’re amazing,” Tim breathes. “Come on, fuck me harder. You know I can take it.” To emphasize his point, he hauls Jason closer by pulling him down with both his claws and his legs, undoubtedly leaving blood streaks behind that Jason will secretly admire in the mirror later.

And Jason follows easily. He always does, when it comes to Tim.

“Aren’t you just a greedy little thing?” Jason teases. Though, his words have little bite because of how breathless he’s also become from his own groaning and grunting. Regardless, Tim gives Jason his own love bite in retaliation, and it’s all over from there.

Jason comes with a long, low groan, arisen from his gut and curated within his throat, hips still stuttering forward because, _fuck_ , he wants to be inside Tim all the time. Wants to feel Tim around him, all of him, so warm and soft, giving and taking and wanting Jason, of all people. It’s almost more than Jason can take.

Except, he still wants more.

He wants it all.

(Wants too much.)

Then, Tim comes too with a hearty moan and the most beautiful tilt of his head, and, for now, Jason is satisfied.

It takes the both of them awhile to recover. Good orgasms will do that to a person, Jason supposes. In the meantime, they lay there in silence, basking in the glory of excellent rooftop sex. Or something. Either way, Jason doesn’t move except to remove the condom and idly stroke Tim’s hair.

“You think we could take the rest of the night off? Or is Gotham calling your name?” Tim asks quietly once he’s settled. Somehow, he’s managed to avoid getting cum all over his costume. Without thinking, Jason scoops up a few remnants off of Tim’s abs before sucking it off his fingers. Tim smiles tiredly at the scene, gaze gentle and content.

He looks good like that. The best, even.

“Gotham always needs something,” Jason responds.

Tim cocks his head to the side. “You’re gonna go back out there, then?”

The stars sure look nice today. Clear skies float by above them lazily, with all the time in the world, and Jason feels inspired. That, or he’s just a huge sap because he just shakes his head and say, “No. Not tonight.”

Tim’s smile remains content, but now his eyes gleam, like a poor kid at the candy store for his monthly treat.

(Jason’s favorite had always been the fancy caramel Milky Way that only one run-down convenience store in the neighborhood stocked. When he was a kid, he only got one on special occasions if he didn’t steal it. Then, when he lived with Batman, he ate so many of them he could hardly look at them within two weeks.

He hasn’t had one since.)

“Come stay at my place, then,” Tim says. “I still owe you that drink.”

“You sure? I’m sure your staff doesn’t appreciate you dragging home stray dogs.”

“It’s fine. I’m the boss, after all. What can they do? Say no?”

Jason struggles to devise a proper argument against that, so he ends up getting swept away and escorted to the Drake manor within the hour.

Because he can’t help it. He’ll always follow Tim, apparently.

As promised, Tim mixes Jason one of the most deceptively strong drinks he has ever had. Even though he had been brimming with anxious energy moments earlier, Jason now wants nothing more than a soft bed and warm body beside his own for the next few hours and so, so much more.

Tim offers himself as tribute graciously.

“You should change before you fall asleep. You reek of smoke and blood,” Tim says as Jason faceplants into his cushy king-sized bed and all its million thread-count sheets.

(Like the ones Bruce has. Too much like the ones Bruce has.)

“You gonna hover over me like a mother hen again if I don’t?”

“Of course. Someone’s gotta keep you in line.”

(Isn’t that the truth?)

Jason’s too tired to argue, drowsy from the alcohol and leaden from everything else, so acquiesces easily. Tim scrounges up the loosest clothes he has, and they just about fit Jason. He, too, changes quickly, and now Jason has it all, clenched tight and greedily in his torn-up hands — a warm Tim pressed against his side and silky soft sheets surrounding him.

And it’s good. Really good, laying down and sleeping beside Tim like it’s a given — like he belongs here. As if playing domestic makes sense.

A part of Jason rebels at the very notion; he shouldn’t be getting so attached. Tim’s made no indication that he ever wanted anything more than what they’ve already gotten from each other, and that’s _fine_. Jason tells himself so on repeat.

At the same time, he’s tired, Tim is warm, and, for once, Jason lets himself just accept it.

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning, Tim gets called away to attend to some important business by a frantic assistant bursting into the bedroom. It’s not the rudest awakening Jason has ever been victim of — having Clayface break into an old safe house holds that title for now — but he still finds himself strangely flustered by it.

“I hope being caught with me in bed like that doesn’t cause you any trouble,” Jason says as he hastily gets dressed.

Tim, on the other hand, takes his sweet time. “It’s fine, my employees don’t gossip. Even if they did, it’s really not a big deal. I’d probably just get more gifts like that apron.”

“A damn shame you’re gonna be missing out, then.”

“I guess you’ll just have to make it up to me.”

Jason just smiles in response. In all his life, he has only ever given a single gift — a ring fitted with a row of small diamonds and rubies he pilfered off a dead body on a whim. He pocketed it and kept it for days until he ran into Stray ransacking the place of a suspected human trafficker. They had scuffled for a bit before realizing their common interests, and then they fucked beside that ridiculous bat signal light in a fit of impulsiveness.

For the first time. No condom. No real lube. But did Tim love it.

Now Jason stands awkwardly in Tim’s fancy bedroom, watching him slip on that very same ring as the final touch to his outfit. It looks good around his well-moisturized finger, Jason thinks, as if designed specifically for him. Though, Tim tends to make everything look good.

(Tim always looks good to Jason, even when he lays in the middle of a dank alleyway after an unfortunate run-in with a formidable mercenary who’ll accept money to keep young girls in sexual servitude. Jason should’ve been better, should’ve taken him to a doctor and the like. A better person would’ve done so.

A better person does not include the likes of Jason. Because he is weak, and Tim looked so good, and he felt so good, too.)

“You can stick around a bit if you’d like. The kitchen staff will make you anything you want,” Tim says, even though he knows Jason won’t.

“Nah, I should get going. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Tim nods, and together they leave. That is, until Tim slips into the backseat of his Lamborghini. Jason keeps on walking until he reaches his bike, and, well… This is the way it’s supposed to be.

And he does not miss Tim when he returns home. Of course not.

 

* * *

 

 

First, Jason leaves Tim behind for the sake of getting back to smoking out the sect of Gotham’s seedy underground that Batman loves to ignore. Next, he vacates the city entirely for the next few weeks. Apparently, the people of Tamaran have been accosted by some kind of horrible crisis. Kori all but begs Jason to come out and help her.

“Please. I don’t know who else to ask,” she says, tone urgent and green eyes blazing brighter than ever. Even her hair appears to be more fire and ashes than anything else as she tries to stop herself from frantically wringing her hands apart. “I know we are not exactly a team anymore, as we have all mutually decided to go our separate ways, but, seeing as we parted amicably, I was hoping… Though, I completely understand if you are too preoccupied with Gotham to assist me! I know how much you love her. I would never presume to force you away.”

Her words come out in a fumbled mess, loosely strung together by a handful of alien phrases and plenty of heaving, desperate breaths. Despite that, she continues to insist she won’t be upset in the slightest if Jason refuses.

Jason believes it. But, honestly, how could he say no to such an ardent request from Kori, of all people?

So, he goes, along with Roy, and the three of them get embroiled in yet another Tamaranean coup, courtesy of Kori’s sister.

The saying ‘in space, no one can hear you scream’ proves itself to be a load of horseshit, Jason discovers during his stay there. Blackfire, in particular, has an extensive predilection for hearing her victims scream in agony.

Back in the day, when Jason was younger, brash, willful, and all the other aspects of a person that makes Robin a Robin, he used to refuse screaming during moments like these. He considered it a show of weakness, and weakness only lead to more pain and suffering. A mindset like that made sense in a place like Gotham, particularly to a kid whose greatest role model was the fucking _Batman_ , of all people. Of course, some people could probably pen an entire dissertation on the perils of idolizing a lunatic who dresses in a Bat costume while hunting down dangerous and deranged criminals, but Jason was never that smart.

To him, Batman symbolized the epitome of greatness and hope borne from the darkest of situations. Jason thought he could relate — that, perhaps, he’d even become Batman one day so he could continue the legacy. All for the sake of Gotham and good.

Even in his first final moments in that damn warehouse, with the crowbar and the incessant taunts, compounded by the waiting and waiting, Jason hadn’t screamed. He thought Batman would be embarrassed with him if he did.

He thought Batman would come.

And, when Jason realized he wasn’t, he was too pissed to do anything.

Now, he likes to think he’s abandoned that kind of fanciful idealism. However, he still can’t bring himself to scream the way he desperately wants to, and he wonders what the fuck’s wrong with him because he keeps thinking about Bruce and Dick, then Alfred and Damian, and then they dissolve in his mind to make up Tim, Tim, _Tim_ , and Jason misses him.

The landscape of Tamaran stretches far and wide with swirls of color, though reds and oranges dominate. Red and orange like Kori. It looks just as beautiful as she does, infinitely striking. The way they melt together lingers like the memory of an old, beloved friend, sticking to his eyelashes impatiently. It wants attention. It gets Jason’s attention.

But it fades as quickly as it arrives because he misses those baby blues and pinks on pale skin. Jason barely registers Blackfire striking at him again because he wants so much he can hardly feel anything else anymore.

He misses Tim.

A commotion erupts somewhere to the side. He’s not sure what caused it, but he smells leather and the approaching voices sound strangely familiar. His mind swims too heavily, though, and where is Tim? Jason misses him. So much.

“Jason? Are you ok?” someone asks quietly. The voice doesn’t belong to either Kori or Roy. Still, Jason knows it, but he can’t remember.

He misses Tim.

“Where’s Tim?” Jason slurs, even though he knows it’s impossible for Tim to be here.”

The voice speaks again, but Jason can only registered garbled words. They speak English. That’s for sure. Jason can’t make sense of it all, though.

God, he misses Tim.

_I’m sorry._

 

* * *

 

 

The reds and oranges are gone. Instead, Jason blearily sees grays stacked upon grays with the occasional pop or bright blue here and there.

Several people bustle about around him. They, too, don’t resemble any of the Tamaranean’s from before. He tries his best to focus his gaze and figure out where he is and with who, but it’s just too hard.

He’s been doing well, recently. Busting his ass and keeping himself away from too much trouble — enough to keep Bruce mildly satisfied, at least. He deserves a break from all this difficult stuff for awhile, right?

Someone notices him. They approach quickly, far too eager for Jason’s taste. He makes an aborted effort to flinch away, but he fails.

“How are you feeling?”

Soft. The voice rolls over Jason softly, and, this time, he has enough sense to realize it belongs to a man.

Not Tim though.

“Where’s Tim?” Jason asks.

The man sighs. “Is that really all you can think about? I’d appreciate it if you’d be more concerned about yourself right now.”

Jason bristles at the man’s tone; or, he would if he didn’t feel so tired. As it stands, all he can really do is offer a displeased frown before drifting off to sleep again, lulled by a big, calloused hand resting on his forehead.

 

* * *

 

 

He comes to one more time, slightly more lucid than the last. The warmth of someone else’s hand still sits heavy upon him, but it’s small and smooth this time.

“Tim?” Jason asks. His own voice feels faraway — beyond himself — but it speaks regardless.

“Yeah. I’m right here,” Tim replies softly. He presses his palm down harder against Jason’s cheek. Jason nuzzles into it like a beaten dog. “And you said you didn’t like being babied.”

“Did your parents ever baby you?” Jason asks. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself. He’s seen the towering family portrait in the grand foyer of the Drake mansion before, but, more importantly, he’s seen Tim’s reaction to it, too. It’s a mixture of blatant adoration, deep-set longing, and heaps upon heaps of hot resentment.

Neglect will do that to a kid. Jason knows as much himself.

Slowly, Tim’s hand pulls away. Instinctively, Jason leans up until he finds it again, buried in his hair this time.

“They did once,” Tim whispers. “When I was six, I came down with a horrible case of the flu. I threw up for nearly three days straight until all I could get up was water and bile. Eventually, they had me hospitalized. I stayed there for four days, and my parents stayed with me the whole time. They read me lots of stories I had never heard of before, and they watched so many movies with me. They even took turns sleeping so one of them would always be awake if I needed them. Seeing them there like that made me so happy, despite how sick I was.”

He pauses to rake his manicured nails through Jason’s hair. In turn, Jason practically purrs in delight.

“After I was discharged, I was put on a week’s worth of bed rest, just to be safe,” Tim continues. “But, by the time I got home, my dad had already left on a business trip. My mom followed suit the next day, and it took them another three weeks to return. I wanted to surprise them when they came home, so I worked with our head chef to bake them a beautiful cake. Unfortunately, I learned surprises never end very well. I ended up overheating them talking about how much me being sick cost them.”

Tim pulls a wry grin. “But, on the bright side, their whole good parent act made them look good to the public. In the end, they ended up profiting. I guess I wasn’t a complete waste, huh?”

“You’re not a waste. Never a waste,” Jason insists.

Tim laughs, but it sounds off. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“I mean it. You’re amazing. Really, really amazing.”

Tim cocks his head to the side questioningly. “You really are out of it, huh? Didn’t know alien viruses could pack such a mean punch.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I would never dream of it.”

Jason frowns, unconvinced. At the same time, staying angry at Tim for more than ten seconds proves to be too much for him.

(Weak.)

“I missed you, you know,” Jason whispers.

Like the flooding of a dam, Tim’s expression cracks open into sweet and vulnerable within milliseconds.

“I don’t know what to do with you when you’re being so open like this,” Tim admits.

Jason opens his mouth. He has things he wants to say, but he can’t think of them right now. Dumbly, he closes his mouth again and hopes Tim isn’t offended by indecision. Tim looks oddly pleased regardless.

So, Jason comes to the stellar conclusion that it’s fine to just sleep for now. He’ll figure out the rest later.

Tim’s hand does not move.

 

* * *

 

 

Jason wakes up, once again, feeling like a whole truckload of shit. This time, however, an additional sense of complete and utter confusion washes over him as he clumsily blinks his eyes open.

He’s not in his own bed, and he’s not on Tamaran either. It takes him a few seconds to figure where he _actually_ is, and, lo and behold, he’s laying in a sick bed in the Batcave. Several monitors beep steadily to one side. On the other side sits Tim, quietly reading a book.

The deja vu is startling.

Jason shuffles, accidentally nudging one of the sensors on his chest. The respective monitor goes crazy in response, and Tim quickly gets up to attend to it, only to find Jason staring at him, bamboozled.

“Look who’s up. Are you actually awake this time, or are you gonna immediately fall back asleep on me again?” Tim asks.

“No, I’m — I’m awake this time. I have too many questions to fall back asleep now.”

As if on cue, Bruce storms into the Batcave with Alfred and Dick hot on his heels. He goes through a long-winded explanation of what happened, all of which ultimately boils down to, ‘The ones in charge of the resurrected coup on Tamaran introduced you and Roy to an alien virus that, by an unfortunate stroke of luck, ended up being quite damaging to the human system. Thankfully, Starfire was able to hold her own long enough for the Justice League to arrive and intervene. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for about a week, but rest assured. Tamaran is once again equipped with relative political stability, for now.’

“How’s Kori?” Jason asks.

Dick responds to that, unsurprisingly. “She’s doing fine. Resting for now. Fighting off an entire rebel army by herself took quite a lot out of her, but she’s a trooper. She’s already making plans to go back out there in the next few weeks.”

“Tell her to contact me before she does. I want to help her out,” Jason says.

“Are you sure about that, Master Jason? You’ve been very ill,” Alfred cuts in, clearly displeased with his insistence.

“Yeah. I can’t let her go out there alone like that.” Jason pauses to shoot a sly smirk Dick’s direction. “She’s my girl, after all.”

Suddenly, Tim rises from his seat, expression unbothered and posture at ease; Jason wishes he could also be like that around Bruce.

“Well, now that everything’s headed in the right direction, I think it’s time for me to go. I have a few meetings to get to,” Tim announces.

“Right now?” Dick asks.

“Unfortunately. I’ll see you all later though. It seems like we can’t help but run into each other these days, huh?”

Tim smiles at Jason. It’s not the same, however, and Jason briefly wonders if he’s still dreaming. But, before he can say anything, Tim’s already striding out of the cave with those pretty legs of his, leaving Jason alone with the vultures.

Thankfully, Alfred has the decency to drag Bruce away before he can start interrogating Jason.

“He needs rest. Not the Inquisition,” Alfred chides. Bruce complies, but the look he tosses over his shoulder promises ‘further discussion.’ Still, Jason can rest somewhat easily for now.

“So, Jason, I think we have a few things to talk about, don’t we?”

Or maybe not.

“Look, Dick, I was just teasing when I said Starfire was my girl. You know that,” Jason groans.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, but thanks for clarifying anyway,” Dick says with a smirk. “I’m referring to something else.”

“And what is that?”

“Well, I’m thinking we should have a brotherly talk about how you’re head-over-heels in love with Tim.”

A pause. Jason thinks he might actually be dead again because his half-dreams then also didn’t make much sense.

“Excuse me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has suddenly turned into one big sick fic LOL
> 
> [me twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)


	6. Chapter 6

Dick stares at Jason like he’s risen from the grave. Again.

Jason, on the other hand, can’t stop but wonder about what kind of black magic bullshit must be going on in Blüdhaven for Dick to have gotten such a ridiculous idea.

“Jason,” Dick says slowly, like he’s trying to appease a starving and spooked tiger who’s escaped onto the streets of Gotham, “you can’t tell me that you really don’t have any feelings for Tim.”

“Of course I do,” Jason responds, not at all defensively because he has nothing to be defensive about, he emphatically tells himself. “But that doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.”

“Then how would you describe your feelings towards him?”

Jason frowns and considers the question carefully before answering. “Well, I think he’s much smarter than anyone gives him credit for, first of all, but I guess that’s because he doesn’t want people to know how smart he is. So, he plays up that whole sex kitten act Selina taught him, and he’s good at it. So good that people don’t even realize he’s got them all figured out until he’s already won because the whole jewel thief thing is just a game to him. I mean, it’s not like needs any of it with his Drake family fortune. He’s just so smart he gets bored, and it’s always fun to watch him work, you know?”

He gets so caught up in his mini-tirade that the world falls away from him in a maelstrom of Tim, only to let up at the sound of Dick pointedly clearing his throat. Then, Jason blinks reality back into existence in front of him, only to be met with Dick’s unimpressed expression.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m in love with him,” Jason repeats awkwardly. “I can admire and see the good points in someone without being in love. You think I love Roy too?”

“I think this and that are completely two different things, and you know it. I mean, when have you ever given Roy such glowing accolades, all while wearing the most lovesick expression I have ever seen in my entire life?”

“No, I’m not sure I have a clue what you’re talking about.”

Dick frowns, eyebrow raised through the force of sheer impatience dipped in unamusement. In other words, he gives Jason that same look he always used to wear when Jason was still that fresh-faces boy playing Robin while Dick was still sporting that ridiculous outfit as his new Nightwing self.

Jason doesn’t appreciate the look.

“Come on, it’s not like you’ve never been friends with benefits with anyone,” Jason says, rolling his eyes.

“I haven’t, actually.”

Jason frowns, inclining his head forward incredulously. “What do you mean? Everyone wants a piece of your ass.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m obligated to take any of them up on their offer. I am a relationship man, believe it or not. I can’t wait to get married one day,” Dick confesses. A dopey smile begins to creep over his face for a second before falling off so quickly even Jason gets whiplash.

Perhaps it’s always too soon to breach the topic of a failed engagement to an alien warrior princess Jason still regularly comes into contact. Well, Dick always was the sentimental one; that explains why he’s so hell-bent on insisting Jason _loves_ Tim.

At least, Jason tells himself that.

Either way, Dick’s gone and upset himself, and no one likes being around an upset Dick. First, he gets moody. Then, he gets mean, and there’s only enough room for one mean ex-Robin in the Batcave.

So, Jason decides it’s long past time for him to leave.

“Anyway, thanks for the advice, or whatever,” Jason says, going the extra mile to keep his tone light and offhand or else Dick will never get off his back, “but I gotta go.”

“You can’t keep running away from your feelings. You’re allowed to have emotions, you know,” Dick chastises, not unkindly.

Nonetheless, Jason bristles at his tone. “I’m not running from anything,” he says, right as he books it out of the Batcave without a single look back.

Because honestly, he just doesn’t want to see Dick’s concerned, disappointed look anymore.

 

* * *

 

“You know, maybe he has a point.”

Jason whirls around with a scowl. Roy — the traitor — stares back at him, nonplussed.

“You have been spending a lot more time with Tim lately,” Roy continues as he absentmindedly polishes his bow. “I figured it was because you two had finally made things official. You know. Serious.”

“There’s nothing to make official,” Jason argues.

Roy doesn’t look convinced.

“We just have sex and hang out sometimes. What happened to the concept of friends with benefits?”

“I don’t know if being just friends with benefits with someone causes someone to constantly talk about their ‘friend’ during a failed coup of an alien civilization.”

Jason blinks as he racks his brain for an explanation. Ultimately, he comes up with nothing. “What are you talking about?”

“You really don’t remember?” Roy asks.

“You think I’d be asking if I did?”

“Alright, no need to get snippy with me just because you’re in denial,” Roy sighs, gesturing for Jason to settle down.

Begrudgingly, Jason sits.

“After you got knocked out by the Tamaranean defectors, they took me too and put us in a cell together. You woke up some time later. Or, I thought you had woken up. Guess you were still pretty out of it, seeing how to don’t remember anything about it.” Roy begins to taper off at the end, caught up in speculation.

Jason clears his throat with all the uncouth tendencies Alfred never completely trained out of him.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Roy says, glaring at Jason, “the whole time we were there waiting for Kori to save, you would not stop talking about Tim. How pretty his baby blue eyes are, how cute he looks when he’s come up with latest genius plan, how good he looks in his spandex suit… Honestly, I could go on for hours about Tim this and Tim that. You did, at least.”

“Please don’t,” Jason groans because, somehow, he knows it all to be painfully true.

“Oh, but why not? It got even worse after you got sick. You practically wrote an entire sonnet about the way Tim’s hair looks on your pillowcase in the early morning,” Roy says. Jason can only bury his face in his hands and hope that maybe Roy will just disappear if Jason can’t see him anymore.

Of course, Jason’s not a child anymore. Such willful beliefs never come true these days.

“But, even with all that, the one thing you really could not stop talking about was how much you missed him, and how you hoped everything would turn out ok just so you could see him again, ” Roy continues. This time, he sounds sincere, like a mother patting his son on the shoulder as if to say, ‘I’m sorry, but your father’s not coming back.’

“God, did I really?” Jason whispers.

“Yeah. I figured you were so fixated on him because you had finally managed to ask him out for real, which made you upset that your relationship was on the rocks so soon a la interstellar warfare. Not because you hadn’t even confessed to him yet.”

“I…” Jason stops. He has nothing to say. No words come to mind because if he doesn’t actually recall anything Roy’s just told him, he knows it must be true; Roy might be a right brat sometimes, just like the rest of them, but he’s no liar.

Right now, though, Jason kinda wishes he were.

“Well, if everything goes south, I’ll still be here for you,” Roy says. He must see the lightbulb fizzing above Jason’s head at his sudden, personal realization.

Jason turns to glare at him. Roy just shrugs in response before planting himself onto his couch and beckoning Jason over to join him. “Come on, don’t give me that. I have lots of first-hand experience when it comes to getting over a failed relationship.”

“Like hell you do,” Jason scoffs. Regardless, he takes Roy up on his offer and doesn’t even flinch as a wayward couch spring digs into his thigh. “I don’t think you’ve ever gotten over any of your paramours.”

“I’m getting there.”

Jason sighs, throwing his head back until it rests against the back of the couch. “Dick’s gonna have a field day with this.”

Roy chuckles. “Hey, it’s not every day his ornery younger brother falls in love. He probably just wants to give you advice on how to properly woo a person.”

“I know. That’s the worst part.”

 

* * *

 

As anticipated, Dick nearly flails himself off the top of a skyscraper when Jason comes to him a few days later, defeated and armed with deflated resignation.

“Come on Hood, don’t sound so upset about it!” Dick exclaims, bounding over to Jason excitedly. He meets Jason with goofiest grin, and Jason would be offended by it if it didn’t look so well-meaning. “Being in love is a beautiful thing!”

“You say that like you didn’t have to call off an engagement in the past,” Jason growls.

Dick frowns, nose wrinkled and lips tight. “Alright, let’s not talk about my past romantic endeavours right now. This is about you, after all.”

“I don’t need you to make this about me. I can do this on my own.”

“Hood, you needed two people to help you even realize your feelings in the first place. I think it might do you some good to just… open up and accept other people’s help more.”

“No thanks,” Jason says right before he leaps off the building top, to Dick’s chagrin.

Of course, it’s just Jason’s luck for him to run into Batman instead.

“Hood,” he rumbles in that fake, gravel-fed voice of his, “we need to talk.”

“About what?” Jason demands. “I haven’t done anything to disappoint you for months now. Or does me just being the Red Hood in Gotham upset you that much?”

“It’s not about that. I just want to talk to _you_.”

Jason glowers. Unfortunately, Bruce can’t see it past the mask. Even more unfortunate is the fact that B’s even more stubborn than Dick when he sets his mind to it, and even Jason can only avoid him for so long when he gets in these moods.

So Jason lets out long-suffering sigh before surrendering himself to Bruce’s whims. “Fine. Let’s go and do this before you come up with something to bitch at me about.”

Bruce’s signature frown deepens, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he sweeps away with a flourish of his cape, silently beckoning for Jason to follow him.

And, like a fucking idiot, Jason follows.

“I heard about your… predicament from Dick,” Bruce announces abruptly the moment they step into the Batcave.

“Oh God. Dick’s even got you roped up in this? I never pegged his anal retentive ass as the type to gossip about unnecessary things.”

“He’s just worried. And excited,” Bruce explains stiffly.

“I think he’s making a huge deal out of nothing. It’s just a crush,” Jason insists.

“Yes, well, he just… wants the best for you.”

“So he told you to what? Help me come up with fun date ideas?” Jason scoffs, stalking through the Batcave with affronted indignation. He even makes sure to brush his grubby fingers all over the keyboard of Bruce’s main console, just to annoy him.

“He just wanted to let me know more about what’s going on in your life.

“Well, now you know. Can I go now? You’re talking to me like you’re trying to stage some intervention, but I gotta say, I don’t need you to tell me who or who I can’t fuck,” Jason hisses, and he only feels a little guilty about referring to Tim so crudely.

(That’s a lie. He feels plenty guilty and just flat-out strange.

God, he can’t believe he’s _in love_.)

“I don’t care about that at all. In fact, I’m quite fond of Tim myself.”

Jason’s eyebrow shoots up his forehead with enviable speed. “Are you saying you’re about to start getting pissy at me over Tim just like Damian?”

“No,” Bruce says quickly. “I mean, I think Tim’s good for you.”

“I don’t need your approval,” Jason snaps.

“I know. I just wanted to let you know that I might be able to help you, if you need it.”

To be frank, Jason’s so taken aback he doesn’t even know how to react. So he just stares up at Bruce with mouth slightly ajar, expression flat and mind suspiciously blank. When his brain finally catches up, all he can utter is a quiet, “What?” while Bruce stares down at him with an odd tranquility.

“Even though Selina and I have gone our separate ways, we are still on good terms. She and Tim are still fairly close, as you are well-aware of, so I could put in a good word for you. If you’d like,” Bruce explains hesitantly.

Jason nearly has an aneurysm from the awkwardness of it all.

“I do not need you to write me a letter of recommendation for something like this,” Jason replies. All of a sudden, he feels exhausted, and the dank atmosphere of the cave isn’t helping. “If I can’t handle this on my own, then I guess that’s that.”

“If you say so. Regardless, my offer still stands.”

Jason laughs weakly before resting his ass on the empty space beside Bruce’s console, sparing it any more trouble — for now. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do here.”

“And what am I trying to do?” Bruce asks.

“You’re trying to be a good father figure to help ease all your pent-up guilt by showing way too much interest in my personal life, or something. I can’t say I really appreciate the effort, but I guess it’s better than nothing,” Jason says. “But I also don’t need it. It won’t make me feel any better to know that my apparent relationship problems have added to your stupid personal vendetta against yourself.”

Bruce furrows his brows so hard Jason’s both worried and a bit curious to see if his face might completely pinch off as a result.

“It’s not an act. I really do want to… be more involved in your life.”

“Alright, I get it. You want to be the awkward, emotionally-stunted father figure I never had. You’ve been crazy nice to me for months now. Slow your roll a bit, and I might actually be more receptive,” Jason says.

Bruce sighs, defeated for now. “Fine. Just let me know if you need me for anything. It’s about time we sat down at had a real discussion. About a lot of things, in fact.”

“Yeah. Tonight’s not a good night, though. Especially not with your brattiest son sneaking around in the corner like that, looking at me like he’s trying to turn me into stone.”

Bruce turns just in time to see Damian scurrying away from the scene, like an ill-trained dog who’s just been caught tearing apart the good down blankets.

“He’s just a bit jealous. Tim’s his first real crush, you know,” Bruce says.

“Figures Damian would be the type to take it so seriously. The League probably trained him all about wooing future successors and all that. I mean, isn’t that what Talia did with you?” Jason teases.

“Please, I don’t know if I could talk about that tonight.”

“Now you know how I feel.”

Bruce turns to him with a wry smile. “Well, Tim’s not nearly as bad, is he?”

“No, but he’s no Superman.”

Bruce’s smile lifts into something more amused than appalled. There might even be a hint of fondness in there. It looks surprisingly good on him. “None of us are, but we do our best anyway.”

“I guess so. Just wish it weren’t so hard.”

“You always have us to help,” Bruce reminds him softly.

“I get it already. Don’t get too preachy about it now.”

“You know I’m bad at that.”

“God, do I.”

 

* * *

 

Eventually, Bruce releases Jason back into the wild, and he manages to do so without anymore hamfisted offers of care and understanding. Which Jason greatly appreciates; he can only handle so much kindness in one night, after all. Too much of it tends to give him hives.

Though, he can’t help but get ridiculously mushy when he spots Tim sitting on his couch, idly sipping away at some drink he’s fixed himself in Jason’s favorite safe house.

“Hey there,” Jason greets, throwing his jacket aside without a single care because Tim just takes up too much of his attention for him to worry about anything else. “You still up? It’s pretty late.”

“Thought I’d wait for you this time,” Tim replies, and his voice comes washes over them light and smooth.

“You couldn’t have known I’d come here tonight.”

Tim shrugs, eyes bright and smile soft. “I had a hunch. A cat’s intuition is pretty good, you know.”

“You really like to act like you’re a real cat, huh?”

“People enjoy it. Gives them a lot to talk about in the news, and I think it’s fun. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

“Always thinking of others, aren’t you?”

Tim grins wide over the rim of his —Jason’s really — mug. “I try. Besides, who doesn’t love a cute kitten?”

“Who indeed.”

Jason pads across the room with muffled steps until he’s close enough to sit down besides Tim. Without missing a beat, Tim shimmies over to the side to give Jason more room before offering him a sip of his drink.

It’s hot chocolate. Jason swallows a searing mouthful. It tastes slightly bitter, and it’s thicker than the kind Alfred makes, but it tastes delicious regardless.

“Any particular reason you came to visit me today?” Jason asks.

“Just wanted to see how you were doing. I got called away for business these past couple of days, so I didn’t get to check up on you before this,” Tim explains. “You seemed pretty out of it last time I saw you.”

“I feel fine now. Apparently, even interstellar diseases can’t beat some good old rest and water. It just took a bit more time than I would’ve liked,” Jason replies.

Tim nods his head in silence as he sips away at his drink. A lull falls over them then, and, usually, the silence between them is amicable. Jason might even go so far as to say that it comforts him.

Tonight, however, it feels inexplicably jarring.

“How have you been these past few days?” Jason prods gently.

Tim hums, noncommittal, before responding. “It’s been fine. Busy. To be honest, I think I’m gonna be pretty busy for the next few weeks. I also came over to let you know.”

“Oh. Yeah?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure you’ll have your hands so full with Gotham and your Outlaws that you’ll hardly even notice I’m gone.”

“I highly doubt I could ever forget you,” Jason admits. “You gonna be gone on a business trip?”

“Something like that.”

That’s a non-answer if Jason’s ever heard of one. Not to mention, it’s a pretty sloppy coming from Tim, of all people. Or maybe Tim’s giving him a leading, yet vague response on purpose. It’s hard to tell from him sometimes. Either way, Jason decides to let the matter rest. After his run-ins with Bruce and Dick today, he’d much rather have a simple and relaxing evening with Tim, if possible.

Fortunately, Tim’s more than agreeable to that. Once all the questions and half-clarifications end, Tim ever-so-subtly shifts until his side is pressed warm against Jason’s. His presence exudes gentle contentedness, though Jason notices he doesn’t linger quite as close as he usually does.

Jason hesitates to say anything at first. If Tim’s ever truly inclined to it, he really can act the cat; in other words, he gets aloof when he doesn’t want to acknowledge certain things. Most of the time, it’s over matters Jason doesn’t necessarily need to know about, which has done them fairly good up until now.

At the same time, Jason’s recently come to the — probably belated — realization that he might just be in love with Tim, and something as simple and monumental as that really changes everything.

So, he sucks up his newfound dismay at the thought of prodding to ask, “Is everything alright?”

Tim blinks up at him a few times, all taken aback and doe-eyed before melting back into easy complacency. “I’m fine. Just… thinking about a few things. Potential changes to my life.”

“You want to talk about it?”

Tim shakes his head. His cup’s already empty, but he continues to cradle it with both hands like a lifeline. “Not really.”

Jason leans closer the tiniest bit, testing to see how Tim will react. He doesn’t move away, but he also makes no attempt to further close to distance between them.

Well. He really is in quite the mood then.

Ultimately, Jason says little else, and, eventually, Tim finally relinquishes the mug when he realizes that Jason won’t try to interrogate him any further. It rests heavy against Jason’s old coffee table, but the silence that ensues feels slightly less tense.

Finally, Tim moves to rest his head against Jason’s shoulder with the tiniest sigh. “Sorry for just bursting in on you like this.”

“It’s fine. You’re welcome anytime you want to come,” Jason says, and it’s the truth.

“Oh, you’re such a gentleman, aren’t you?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far, but thanks for the compliment.”

Tim huffs out a quick laugh before squirming until he slinks off the couch. “I’m getting a bit tired. You?”

“I wouldn’t mind a good night’s rest,” Jason replies.

Nodding, Tim heads off first, as if he’s the one who owns the place. Of course, it’s not like Jason makes any effort to deter his behavior. Instead, he follows without a single qualm, acting the moth to a flame.

(He’s gonna get burned.)

Tim settles into his preferred side of the bed — the one closest to the door — which also happens to be Jason’s preferred side when he’s home alone. Except, he does find that he doesn’t mind sleeping closer to the window when Tim’s around; if anyone were to break in, Tim would probably be able to help him with little issue, so all’s well there.

Not to mention, Tim tends to curl up on to his left when he sleeps. So, when he’s on the door-side of the bed, that means he’s inclined to sleep curled towards Jason, and that’s always a plus, even on nights like tonight where Tim’s grown distant for whatever reason.

A reason he won’t tell Jason.

Jason tells himself he has no reason to be upset. After all, it’s not as if he’s not the type to hide things from others at a frequency that would put Bruce to shame.

But he’s in love, and it hurts more than he expected.

But he’s fucking in love, so he won’t push the matter.

He curls tighter around Tim. Tonight’s unseasonably chilly, so seeking out extra body warmth makes sense, probably.

(Who’s he trying to kid? He just wants to be closer to Tim.)

Regardless, Tim doesn’t try to pull away. In fact, he even goes so far as to bury his head beneath Jason’s chin with what sounds like a pleased sigh.

“Can’t believe you ever thought you were a bad person when you act this nice to me,” Tim murmurs, voice hardly more than a hint of a whisper.

“You can be both bad and nice,” Jason asserts.

“You’re just too hard on yourself,” Tim counters.

“I think you’re just too soft on me.”

Tim sighs, and his hair tickles Jason’s nose. “Maybe you’re right.”

Jason considers saying something else. However, before he realizes it, Tim’s already asleep, and Jason wonder when he’ll ever finally grow a pair big enough to handle his own emotions.

 

* * *

 

True to his word, Tim disappears from Gotham for the next two weeks. The night patrols are a lot less tolerable without him around, and Jason finds himself growing progressively more ornery with each passing day. It even gets so bad that Dick insists on joining him on a few of them during the later days.

“You look like you could use the company,” Dick claims with that damnable, good brother frown of his.

“Does it honestly look like I want your company right now?” Jason asks angrily.

“Even if you don’t want it, I think you need it.”

Jason scowls behind his mask because, as much as he wants to, he knows he can’t really argue against that. At the very least, Dick quells his attempts to give Jason relationship advice for some time. Instead, he attempts to give Jason encouraging speeches about being himself and all that, which only serves to infuriate Jason even more.

Then, _finally_ , Tim comes back, dressed up in his delicious spandex suit with his signature Stray smirk as his star accessory.

Except, he all but ignores Jason afterwards.

Usually, their routes overlap quite a bit. Now that Dick has started to drag Damian around Bludhaven with him, Jason’s taken over a good chunk of Gotham alongside Bruce. They don’t patrol together, to cover more ground while carefully giving each other space, so Bruce has silently agreed to let Jason take care of the seedier areas. Tim, for whatever reason, also tends to run around those parts of Gotham.

In the few weeks after his return, however, he rarely shows up there. Instead, he starts to crop up around the more heavily-populated districts, leading Bruce to spot him _and_ Selina around in spades.

“Did you and Tim get into a fight?” Bruce ventures to ask one day, despite his abundant awkwardness when it comes to talking about personal matters of the heart.

And, despite Jason’s own aversion to discussing such things, he can’t help but answer with a sullen, “No. At least, I don’t think we had a fight.”

“What happened the last time you two were together?”

“He slept over at my place. He seemed happy enough then.”

Bruce puts on his contemplative face for a total of ten seconds before giving up. “I don’t know what to tell you, to be honest. Selina usually never had a problem airing her grievances when we were still together, for a lack of a better word.”

“Yeah. Well, thanks for the help. I think.”

“I wouldn’t mind helping you out more, if you’d like,” Bruce announces with stilted breath and stiff lip.

Jason rolls his eyes. “With your track record, I really don’t know if I want your help. No offense,” he says, with full offense.

Surprisingly, Bruce takes it in stride. “Understandable.”

Though, Jason has to admit he wouldn’t mind a bit of decent help with this particular predicament.

After a week and a half of hearing about Tim’s expeditions in parts of Gotham less-ventured, Jason finally runs into Tim on top of one of Gotham’s highest and priciest high-rise buildings.

“Stray,” Jason calls out hesitantly. “I haven’t seen you for a bit.”

Tim tilts his head to the side and makes no attempt to approach Jason. “Hood. You look well.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jason responds awkwardly, more taken aback by Tim’s offhand greeting than he’d like to admit. “How have you been?”

“Oh, same old same old. Busy. I’ve found several new potential ‘clients’ for the future. It takes a bit of time to vet them out, though.”

“I bet.” Jason pauses to see if Tim will fill the space himself.

He doesn’t. The silence stretches far, wearing itself so thin it nearly snaps right in front of them. Gotham’s strangely quiet today; no sirens blare, no gunshots echo, and no arguments erupt beneath them, all of which only amplifies the thick stillness between them.

Carefully, Jason attempts to break it. “Would you… like some help?”

This time, Tim offers him the tiniest of smiles as his shoulders droop into something akin to comfortably relaxed. “What, you don’t think I can handle it myself?”

“Just thought I’d offer.”

Tim shakes his head ruefully. Now, the wind picks up, ruffling his hair until he’s puffed up like a kitten tuckered out from a loving play session.

Or a good fuck.

“There you go again, being all nice and chivalrous,” Tim says lightly.

“I’m not sure most people would consider me offering to help you figure out how to best rob other rich citizens of Gotham as chivalrous, but I’ll take it.”

Tim smiles. His mouth thins into a strict line before he lets out a quiet laugh. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

Tim might as well have built a damn forretress between them with that kind of tone. While Dick sometimes like to say that he’s got the emotional intelligence of a newborn puppy, Jason’s not dumb. He can tell when someone’s shutting him out.

He’s just not used to such behavior from Tim.

“Alright,” Jason sounds slowly. Of course, he’s not convinced in the slightest that everything’s fine with Tim, but he refuses to start pushing now. They don’t have that kind of relationship, Jason reminds himself, even if Dick and Roy keep aggressively urging him to do something to change that.

And he will. Soon. Eventually.

Probably.

For now, though, he limits himself to wishing Tim a fond farewell before they go they separate ways for nearly two weeks.

And this time, Jason’s plenty conscious and lucid as he thinks about how much he _misses_ Tim.

 

* * *

 

They meet again afterwards. This time, they’re in much closer quarters, but it happens through some terribly inopportune circumstances.

To be specific, Jason finds himself trapped within the League of Assassins’ lair alongside Tim, who’s been lovingly detained via Ra’s’ brand of magic while Jason’s been not-so-lovingly chained up to a nearby wall.

To be honest, Jason’s never been big on restraints. Though, he might not mind them as much if Tim were the one to tie him up. Instead, they’re both caught up in a bit of a sticky situation, all by accident on Jason’s part. After all, how was he supposed to know that coincidentally following Tim down a suspiciously well-lit alleyway in one of the seedier parts of Gotham would lead to him getting caught up in what looks like an expensive porn set?

Jason chances a look Tim’s direction. Tim’s attention is focused elsewhere.

Jason clears his throat with enough angry indignation to rile up those dumb, too nice manatees who keep getting caught up in boat propellers. In turn, Tim slides his eyes over with an unimpressed frown.

“You mind telling me how we got here? Or, more importantly, why?” Jason asks.

Tim rolls his eyes. “Well, _you_ wouldn’t have gotten involved if you hadn’t insisted on following me like that. Did you really think I hadn’t noticed you stomping behind me for the past four blocks? Steel-toed boots and a small armory’s worth of weapons aren’t exactly quiet, you know.”

“You are purposefully ignoring the question. You and I both know that for a fact,” Jason growls. “And maybe I wouldn’t have been tailing you like that if you weren’t avoiding me.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” Tim argues pointedly.

“Please, you think I’m that dumb? What happened to all the kind words you had for me a month ago?”

Tim scowls petulantly. “Fine, whatever. Believe what you want. Did you ever stop to think that maybe I had a reason for supposedly avoiding you?”

“How about you tell me now, seeing as we’re stuck here?”

Tim opens his mouth with a sharp inhale before quickly closing it again, pursing his lips shut tight. Jason waits to see if he’ll change his mind.

He doesn’t.

Jason sighs, and he wants to say it doesn’t sound forlorn, but he knows for damn sure that it does. “Did I do something? You can tell me if I did. I’m a big boy; I can handle a lecture.”

Tim shakes his head, and his bangs bounce with the motion. “No. You didn’t do anything. It’s… my problem.”

Jason frowns. “I can’t think of a single thing you’ve done to upset me recently.”

“I know. I’m trying really hard to avoid it.”

Jason starts to respond with some half-formed insistence that Tim just talk to him — even though who’s Jason to talk about open and honest communication? However, before he can, the sharp sound of heels clicking against the annoyingly well-waxed floor overpowers him.

“Well look who we have here. I must say, I’m not usually fond of unexpected guests, but your appearance here might prove quite fortuitous for me.”

Ra’s. He’s dressed in that gaudy, overly-opulent green and gold gown of his, as always, but he’s devoid of his usual piles of gold. In fact, besides the robe, he actually looks somewhat modest.

He continues walking forwards until he stands right in front of Jason. In a flash, Jason lunges forward,teeth bared and vicious snarl bursting from his mouth, but Ra’s doesn’t even flinch as Jason’s restraints catch.

“Let us out,” Jason hisses. “Shouldn’t you be training your ninja army instead of holding us hostage? They could use some extra training, you know.”

“You say that even after my league managed to capture the two of you?” Ra’s asks smoothly.

“Six of them died in the attempt. I wouldn’t exactly consider that a good result,” Jason responds.

Ra’s’ lips thin, almost imperceptibly so. Jason doesn’t mention how he had only been caught due to being distracted by Tim because he’d rather not call Tim out like that when they’re evidently in the middle of a fight, but he can tell Ra’s knows as much by the tight edge of his expression.

Regardless, Ra’s smooths his face into careless arrogance mere moments later. After all, a few dead ninjas doesn’t change the fact that he has Tim and Jason there.

“Why did you even capture us in the first place? I thought I was the least useful Robin to you. I mean, your attempts at trying to control me while I was still half-dead and filled with Pit juice didn’t work. What could you possibly do with me now?” Jason asks.

“How presumptuous of you,” Ra’s purrs, “to believe that this has anything to do with you.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “They’ll come stop you.”

“I’ve already taken your communication devices. Even if you did have them, I have implemented several precautions to render such devices ineffectual. What else could you possibly do then?”

Jason blowers as he tests his restraints again. They’re sturdy. He can barely move two inches in these chains, but at least Tim has some leg room in the enchanted box Ra’s keeps him in.

Too bad the same arcane magic doesn’t stop Ra’s from moving freely. He steps into Tim’s space with a single click. The sound echoes, and it’s grating. Then, he takes another step, striding forward until he’s half an arm’s length away from Tim.

“You look well, Timothy,” Ra’s says.

“I’d be better if you hadn’t dragged me here,” Tim says. “What is it this time?”

“This time?” Jason asks in a futile attempt to push himself into the matter.

They both ignore him in a spectacular and aggravating show of begrudging cooperation. That only riles Jason up even more, but his restraints don’t budge in the slightest despite the mad fuss he puts up.

“I just wanted to extend my previous offer once more,” Ra’s says once Jason finally settles down for long enough. “Your talents are being wasted. They were when you were under Selina Kyle’s greedy and short-sighted watch, and they’re being wasted now. No one’s shown you your true potential, I’m sure. I could change that.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Tim growls.

“I’m simply trying to encourage you into something greater. Something more appropriate for you.”

“I really don’t give a single fuck about any of that,” Tim says. “I don’t need the League. I don’t want the League or your ridiculous vision for a ‘better’ world. None of it interests me in the slightest.”

“Oh, but you were quite interested in _me_ a few months ago, weren’t you?” Ra’s asks, each word dripping with slick hauteur as he subtly presses himself against Tim’s frame.

Jason can’t stop his gaping in time. Ra’s witnesses his shock before he can wipe it from his face, which only makes him grow bolder than before, as impossible as that should be.

Tim grimaces.

“That was then and this is now. Not to mention, those are two completely separate issues,” Tim insists hurriedly.

“My dear Timothy, you wound me,” Ra’s coos. He steps forward again, leaning down until his robes brush against Tim’s knees with a flourish that has Jason’s blood boiling. “I cherished our time together, you know. Even you must admit that we’re very… _compatible_.”

He inclines his head until he’s at eye-level with Tim, and the look on his face is surprisingly sincere.

Jason fucking hates it.

Tim, apparently, doesn’t appreciate it much either, if the way he spits in Ra’s face anything to go by.

Aghast, Ra’s reels backwards with an affronted bark. He hastily wipes away at the gnarly loogy Tim landed on him, getting his eyes clear of saliva just in time for him to bear witness to Bruce bursting into the room, Damian and Dick in tow.

“How?” Ra’s demands angrily.

Jason shrugs, and his chains rattle mockingly. “We work with some smart guys, you know. A high-frequency GPS device one can hide in various kinds of orifices isn’t unheard of nowadays, if you can afford it. And you know Batman can afford it.”

“Ra’s,” Bruce rumbles, frown etched deep on his face. “What are you doing with Hood?”

“Just wanted to see how he was doing. One tends to grow quite fond of others when they care for them after their former protege left them to die at the hands of a madman,” Ra’s replies calmly.

Bruce’s scowl grows. In the meantime, Dick works away at Jason’s restraints while Damian does God knows what at Tim’s side, hopping here and there like he’s actually been possessed by a demon.

“Do I even want to know how you two got yourselves into this mess?” Dick asks.

“I’d tell you, if I knew myself,” Jason confesses.

“It’s hard, isn’t it? Liking someone,” Dick whispers.

“I think I’m ready to give up on romance for awhile.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Jason glances over at Tim. He’s watching the whole scene with an odd mix of confusion and tired resignation, but fuck does he look pretty despite it all. Not to mention, Jason still can’t get over that great display of having the balls to spit in Ra’s’ face like that.

He might just be even more in love now.

Still, it’s hard to find the time to really admire Tim when he can hear a small army of assassins beginning to amass nearby. Thankfully, Damian and all of his own ninja training has managed to free Tim, thanks to some aggressive snooping while Bruce has Ra’s distracted Ra’s with a mean game of posturing at each other.

Self-important old men are all the same, it seems.

The barrier breaks. Experimentally, Tim steps out of his previous box of space. Then, he smiles and reaches a nice, warm hand down to give the top of Damian’s head a lot ruffle.

“Thanks, Robin. You keep this up, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough,” Tim says sweetly.

Damian, the eternal brat, beams in response. If Jason’s interpreting Ra’s’ previous comments correctly, than attraction really does run in the family, apparently.

Now’s not the time to think about such things, however. They have a League to contend with, after all.

At least, Jason thought they’d have to deal with them. Instead, Ra’s takes one sidelong glance at Tim before breaking contact with Bruce to call the whole thing off with nothing more than an impatient flick of his wrist.

“This is not what I intended to happen today. I have no interest in wasting my time or resources on unnecessary endeavors,” Ra’s announces, and even in the face of defeat he manages to sound infuriatingly haughty. He glanced at Tim once more. Tim rolls his eyes with his hip cocked to the side, frown fierce. “Go. All of you. Timothy, we’ll discuss this at another time.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d actually ask me for my permission first,” Tim grumbles.

“You would say no.”

“Yes, I would, wouldn’t I?”

Ra’s smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes in the slightest.

Nonetheless, Ra’s does let them go with little fanfare, which, quite frankly, leaves Jason feeling a bit disappointed. Batman’s satisfied, at least, while Dick bounds over to Jason with what can only be described as a shit-eating grin.

“Too bad you and Tim didn’t get tied up together, huh?” Dick teases, nudging Jason none-too-subtly with his elbow.

“Well, it might’ve gotten him to talk to me a bit more,” Jason concedes, words slightly garbled by a heavy sigh.

Dick’s smirk slips into a contemplative frown. “He’s still avoiding you?”

“Oh yeah, and he refuses to tell me what’s wrong.”

“At least he’s here now! Go get him, tiger.”

Dick pushes Jason forward to where Tim had been standing mere moments before. Jason stumbles into a whole lot of nothingness in air because Tim’s gone. Damian stands in his place instead, and now he’s the one looking all pleased with himself.

“Looks like you just missed him,” Damian drawls. “He just really looked eager to leave, so I decided I’d help him slip away.” He grins, and it looks mean. “Probably wanted to get away from you.”

“You fucking brat,” Jason hisses, right as Dick exclaims “Damian!” in utter dismay.

Thankfully, or something, they have Daddy Bats to help keep them in line. “Enough, all three of you.” He spares Jason an unreadable glance. “You’ll have time to speak to Tim in the future. I’m sure of it.”

“If Ra’s doesn’t get to him first,” Jason huffs.

“My grandfather will do no such thing. _I_ will make sure of it, seeing as you are incapable of doing so,” Damian asserts.

“Guess the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Dick says, and now he’s back to smiling, like this whole thing is hilarious. To him, it might be.

But Jason just wishes he didn’t have to go home to an empty apartment again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back with contrived misunderstandings bc, even though i hate this plot device i guess i gotta use it myself LOL
> 
> as always, please tell me what you think :)
> 
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